The weekend, though, was easy and smooth.
After the week we'd had—Benjamin Otavio, Vanguard Ark Investments, whispered names and quiet alliances—it felt almost unreal to wake up without urgency clawing at my chest. We were still in the middle of it all, sure. But for once, it felt like we weren't fighting from opposite corners of the world. Me, Val, her dad, Trent, even Detective Quinn—we were moving in the same direction now.
Saturday morning came without alarms.
I was drifting somewhere between sleep and consciousness when I felt something warm and light brushing across my face. Fingertips. Slow. Deliberate. Almost experimental.
I frowned faintly and turned my head, but the fingers followed, tracing my cheek, my jaw, the bridge of my nose like she was mapping familiar terrain.
I groaned.
The fingers didn't stop.
I groaned louder.
That was when she spoke, her voice soft and amused, right above me.
> "Morning, husband."
