Eira's pov
I woke before the sun.
The stone walls of the watchtower were painted silver by moonlight, cold and quiet, as if the world itself held its breath.
Draven's arm was still draped over my waist, warm and heavy. His chest rose steadily behind me, each breath slow and deep,more peace than I'd seen from him in months. Maybe longer.
I didn't move. Not yet.
My body still hummed from the night before,not from pain, or bruises, or rage. From something gentler. Something worse.
His touch had been reverent. Every kiss like a silent apology. Every breath a prayer.
And I'd let him.
I turned slightly, just enough to look at him. The hard edge that usually lived in his jaw was softer now. His brow, smooth. His lips slightly parted, like he'd surrendered some unseen burden.
A strange ache throbbed in my chest.
Because I didn't know what this was.
I didn't know what we were now.
