The faint light of dawn spilled into the room, painting everything in a gentle golden haze. Ruaan sat at the edge of Kiara's bed, one leg stretched, the other bent, his elbow resting lazily on his knee. He hadn't slept much; sleep seemed a ridiculous idea when his mind had been buzzing all night with thoughts of her-her drunken chaos, her soft snores against his chest, and her words that still lingered like embers in his heart.

It was six in the morning, the kind of time Kiara usually despised, but today was different. For the first time, she wasn't groaning or hiding under blankets. The faint sounds of her rustling inside the closet room carried into the silence, and Ruaan found himself tapping his finger against his thigh, impatient in a way he didn't even bother to disguise.