Sebastian Lightwood:
I was still sitting on the edge of the bed, watching Elias sleep.
He was on his stomach now, arms tucked beneath his pillow, his cheek pressed into the fabric like the world couldn't reach him there. His breathing was slow, even, the kind that only comes when someone finally lets themselves rest. His lashes brushed his cheeks, his mouth slightly parted, and for a moment, it struck me how young he looked like this. Not fragile—never fragile—but soft in a way the world rarely let him be.
It was… comforting. Reassuring. Omegas weren't supposed to look this relaxed next to someone like me. I'd grown up watching fear twist faces when my presence was noticed, watching people stiffen, avert their eyes, retreat. Yet here he was, sleeping soundly in the same room as me, under the same roof, without a trace of panic in his scent. Just warmth. Familiarity. Safety.
And then it hit me again, heavy and unreal.
He was my husband.
