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I swing my legs over the side and reach for my pants, but something on the nightstand catches my attention.

A book.

I don’t remember seeing it there last night.

I pick it up, turning it over in my hands, and a folded note slips from between the pages.

My name is written on the front.

Stephen.

I unfold it.

Don’t feel cheap waking up alone.

I stare at the sentence.

Then a laugh escapes me, low and disbelieving.

Jesus Christ.

Only Artemis could abandon a man in bed after the best sex of his fucking life and somehow make it sound like a formal courtesy.

I shake my head, smiling as I continue reading.

I went to get some work done.

You were sleeping, and I didn’t want to wake you.

I pause.

There’s another line beneath it, written separately, as if she’d hesitated before adding it.

I’m glad I stayed.

My smile fades into something quieter.

Something that settles deep in my chest.

I read it again.

I’m glad I stayed.

Fuck.

It’s three little words. Nothing dramatic. Nothing that would mean much coming from anyone else.

But this is Artemis.

The woman who can turn vulnerability into a fucking escape plan. The woman who would rather leave a note than risk waking me up and having to explain what last night meant to her.

And she stayed.

She let herself stay.

I lower the note, staring at it like the words might change if I look long enough.

Then I read it once more.