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The second is the weight against my chest.

I don't move.

For several seconds, I stare at the ceiling, acutely aware of the blonde hair spread across my shoulder.

This is new.

Callie shifts.

Fuck.

She's still asleep, curled against my side with one leg thrown over mine. Her cheek rests against my chest, her hair tangled around both of us.

And I'm holding her. Still.

Sometime during the night, I apparently pulled the blanket over us. That's fucking concerning.

What's worse is how well I slept.

I don't sleep well. Haven't in years.

I sleep enough to function. Enough to stay sharp. Enough to do my job without getting myself killed.

But I'm always aware of where I am. Every sound. Every movement. Every change in the room.

Last night, I slept. Really fucking slept. With another person in my bed.

A woman I should've sent home hours ago.

A woman who shouldn't be here at all.

I look down at her.

Callie's lips are slightly parted. Her face is relaxed in sleep, missing the mischievous smile that's usually my first warning she's about to make my life more difficult.

She looks peaceful. Soft. Beautiful.

Mine.

My jaw tightens.

No. We already dealt with that shit last night.

She's not mine.

She's—

Something cold shifts against my wrist.

I freeze.

Slowly, I lift my hand. Metal glints in the morning light.

I stare at the handcuff around my wrist.

For several seconds, my brain refuses to process what I'm seeing.

Then my gaze follows the short chain to another cuff around Callie's wrist.