The morning after their quiet dance felt different, lighter somehow, yet fragile, as if one wrong word could shatter the peace they'd just rebuilt. Aria woke first, listening to the rhythmic rise and fall of Luca's breathing beside her. The sunlight brushed across his bare shoulder, illuminating the scar that still traced along his collarbone, a reminder of how close she had come to losing him forever.
She traced the line with her fingers, her touch featherlight, afraid to wake him and even more afraid to lose this small, tender moment of calm. For weeks, she had lived in the tension between hope and fear. Every smile, every kiss, every memory Luca regained felt like a fragile victory against the chaos of their world. But she knew peace was temporary. In their life, it always was.
Luca stirred, catching her hand before she could pull it back. His voice was rough with sleep when he said, "You keep touching me like you're making sure I'm real."
Her lips curved faintly. "Maybe I am."
