“Hey,” he murmurs, voice rough and warm.
“Hey,” I answer quietly.
His mouth curves into a soft, unguarded smile. It hits me harder than anything that came before. “That,” he says, shifting just enough to prop himself up on one elbow, “was… wow.”
I huff a breath that might be a laugh. “You are very articulate.”
He grins wider. “I have a PhD. I can expand if you’d like.”
“Please don’t,” I say dryly.
He laughs, the sound bright and loose, and then his expression softens again. He reaches up, fingers brushing my jaw, my cheek, like he’s reassuring himself that I’m still here.
“You okay?” he asks.
I nod, surprising myself with how easily the answer comes. “Yes. Are you?”
“Very,” he says without hesitation. “More than okay.”
He settles back down, resting his head over my heart. I feel his ear press against my chest, and I’m acutely aware of the steady, powerful rhythm beneath it. He exhales, a long, contented breath.
“I could stay like this forever,” he says.
The words are casual, but they land deeply. I swallow. “We will have to move eventually.”
“I know,” he says. “But not yet.”
Not yet.
I tighten my hold on him, just a little. He makes a pleased sound and relaxes fully into me, trusting my size, my strength, my presence.
The sun creeps higher, warming my back, gilding the edges of the clearing. The fire has burned down to embers, faint wisps of smoke curling upward. The device I fixed earlier stands silent and steady among the trees, its runes dim and satisfied.
Everything feels… aligned.
Elias shifts again, craning his neck to look up at me. “You know,” he says thoughtfully, “this might be the best morning I’ve had in years.”
My chest tightens. “Me too,” I admit.
His eyebrows lift, pleased. “Really?”
“Yes,” I say simply.
He smiles, then leans up and kisses me—slow and unhurried, a press of lips that tastes like warmth and reassurance rather than hunger. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine.
“You let me stay,” he says quietly.
“I wasn’t letting you go anywhere.”
Vulnerability flickers across his face, which he quickly smoothes away. He nods once, like he’s accepting something important.
“Good,” he murmurs.
We lie together for a while longer, the world slowly resuming its shape around us. Eventually Elias sighs and stretches, long and languid, before shifting off me to sit beside my shoulder.
He glances around, taking in the clearing, the trees, the soft light. Then he looks back at me, eyes bright with a familiar spark of curiosity.
“So,” he says, “what’s next on today’s itinerary?”
