A blanket covers me: thick, squishy, and aggressively lavender-scented. The mattress beneath might as well be clouds spun from angel tears. My muscles have liquefied into sedated bliss and now refuse to re-enlist with the rest of my spine.
My head is heavy. My limbs won’t move. I feel great.
Still, my survival instinct whispers that luxury is always the prelude to disaster, so I force my eyes open before I start believing the universe is capable of being kind to me.
The first thing I see is Talon.
He’s on the floor, sprawled on his back with one hand crooked under his head and the other resting over his stomach, chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths. His hair is damp, curling against his forehead, and his mouth is parted just enough to make him look younger than he has any right to.
A ginger beast, this man.
Next to him, Nathaniel sleeps with all the poise of a gothic statue. He’s on his side, one arm tucked beneath his head, the other draped loosely toward Talon. His piercings catch the lamplight. His lashes brush his cheeks. He looks almost… gentle like this.
Cassian’s absence means he’s probably on watch outside.
It’s… not bad. No disaster in sight.
For a few seconds, I just breathe, soaking it all in. The hush. The warmth. The belonging. My body aches in the aftermath of what we did in the showers last night. Every muscle is humming, and each nerve is overstretched. But it’s a good ache. The kind that makes me want to close my eyes again and drift back under.
And maybe I would… if not for the crows.
The memory cuts sharp, like claws on glass: the sound of wings pressing against the windows, shadows layered thick in the trees. Pain’s words echo, low and precise, like he’s whispering in my ear.
They’re predators. If you look weak, they’ll push.
My stomach lurches. I shift under the blankets, forcing myself upright even as every part of me protests. The lamp’s glow swims; my vision tilts. But I manage.
Because suddenly, all I can think is—
Why did the guys just let me sleep?
Nathaniel stirs beside me, lashes fluttering as he blinks awake. His mismatched eyes find me instantly, sharp even through the haze of sleep.
“Skye?” His voice is low, rough-edged. He pushes up on an elbow. “What’s wrong?”
“Why… um. What time is it?” I ask.
Talon groans at the sound, rolling onto his side.
“Who cares, baby? We’re off duty for once.”
Off duty.
Which part of anything about us—aboutme—has ever been off duty?
My throat tightens. I shake my head, clutching the blanket until my knuckles ache. The comfort from before is gone, burned away by panic. It leaves a cold hollow in its wake. I can’t afford softness. Not now. Not when the shitshow out there is still alive and present.
We agreed to indulge, yes. To take a breath. To grab something resembling humanity while we still can. Have fun.
But rest is a privilege I don’t get anymore. Not when Death is already counting down a clock I can’t see.
“No,” I whisper. “You should’ve woken me. The crows… Pain… Death told me I don’t have time to just…” My throat closes around the rest of the sentence. “To rest. We need to do something.”
“Hey, easy.” Nathaniel sits up fully now, hair a curtain around his face. “You passed out. You didn’t fall asleep, you dropped. You needed to take a break.”
The laugh that tries to escape me is jagged and humorless. I did expect this from Talon. He never pretends to prioritize anything over pleasure. I could even picture Cassian forcing me to rest just so he could stand between me and the problem out of sheer stubbornness.
But Nathaniel?
