Mika knew that Astrid was completely settled down and relaxed right now.
He could tell by her tails.
Normally, her seven tails were always floating in the air, held aloft with carefulness.
She never let them touch the ground or rest against anything—not because they were dirty, but because she was so protective of them.
They had to be perfect at all times, pristine and fluffy and absolutely flawless.
The only time they ever touched anything was when she slept, and even then, she had special blankets that enveloped each tail individually, protecting them from any possible blemish.
But right now?
Those tails weren't floating.
They weren't held aloft like wary snakes, ready to strike at any moment.
Instead, they were completely relaxed—draped over the sofa, spilling onto the floor, utterly limp and without tension.
They looked almost boneless, like they had given up all pretense of alertness.
Because Astrid was completely relaxed in his embrace.
