I sat up slowly, palms raised in a universal "easy" gesture.
"Last night you fell asleep," I said, voice low and calm, careful not to spook her further. "Your head was falling sideways. I just… caught you. Let you rest against my shoulder. That's all."
Mira's glare could have cut glass. But beneath the fury, there was something else—something softer, almost coquettish, like she was embarrassed not just by the nakedness, but by the memory of how safe she'd felt curled against me.
She didn't respond right away.
Instead, she lunged for her discarded clothes, snatching them up in a hurried bundle. She shook out her panties first—vigorous snaps of fabric, eyes scanning every seam for any stray ants—then her bra, then her pants and jacket.
She dressed with frantic efficiency, back turned to me the whole time, shoulders hunched like she could will the morning light to stop looking at her.
