Nicky woke up slowly.
It was the kind of waking where you hadn't really slept—where your body was exhausted, but your thoughts kept dragging you to the surface every hour. He was tired. Bone-deep tired. But his mind wouldn't shut off.
God. His head is aching.
Now he was awake, but it didn't feel like he rested.
The room was a quiet mess of sunlight and shadows, the air warm and heavy with the scent of sex and sweat. He didn't open his eyes at first—he didn't need to. Eliana was still curled against him. He could feel the shape of her thigh draped over his hip, her breath ghosting across his bare chest. She was still asleep. Still warm. Still here.
And that terrified him.
There was this pressure in his chest—tight, twisting, like the silence was trying to crawl inside him. Like his body already knew something was about to go wrong, even if nothing had happened yet.
A low, persistent ache lived just under his ribs, where fear took root.
His heart beat too loud in the silence.
