Iyisha woke slowly, the kind of waking that felt like dragging herself up from deep water, her body heavy and uncooperative beneath the covers. Everything ached. Not sharply, not painfully, but with a deep, lingering soreness that settled into her hips and thighs the moment she shifted. She winced softly and went still, breath catching as awareness crept in.
White walls.
A side table.
Too quiet.
She blinked, eyes adjusting, memories arriving in fragments that made heat rush straight to her face. Hands. Pressure. The way she had stopped thinking altogether. Her body answered before her mind could, the soreness confirming what the flashes already told her.
She turned her head.
Malcolm sat on the sofa nearby, posture relaxed but alert, reading something held loosely in his hands. The instant she moved, he sensed it. He looked up and slipped the item back into his bag without a word.
Their eyes met.
Her face burned.
