Tristan woke to the faintest warmth in the air—familiar now, like pine and rain after a storm. It drifted through the small room before he even opened his eyes.
He didn't need to guess whose scent it was.
For a long moment, he simply lay still, watching the sunlight crawl across the floorboards. The memory of last night returned in pieces: the hum beneath his ribs, Shannon's voice telling him to breathe, the stillness between them beneath the moon, and the quiet embrace.
He turned his head and found Shannon already awake, seated by the window. The Alpha had stripped off his cloak, leaving only his shirt on and was stitching a button with quiet focus.
"Good morning," Tristan said softly. "You're distractingly handsome in the morning."
Shannon looked up, the corners of his mouth smiling. "Morning, so are you—looking fresh as day."
The words carried the same calm as his scent—steady, grounding—but it made Tristan's pulse jump anyway.
The Morning Fire
