Natalia's eyes opened in the darkness.
No alarm. No gradual awakening. Just instant awareness, the kind that came from weeks of waking in unfamiliar territory, always alert for the sound of footsteps in the hallway or the click of a door handle.
She lay still, listening to the quiet rhythm of Satori's breathing beside her. The faint glow of the city filtered through the blinds, painting his face in strips of amber and shadow.
Her body ached.
Every muscle carried the pleasant soreness of a night spent tangled in sheets and limbs, of being bent and twisted and filled until thought became impossible. The ghost of his fingers lingered on her hips, her throat, the inside of her thighs.
She turned her head on the pillow, studying him.
