Clara's POV
I woke to birdsong, soft and uncertain, the kind that feels like it doesn't dare disturb the air. Morning light spilled across the room, gilding everything in a pale glow. I turned my head—Ciel lay beside me, heavy with sleep, his body curled as if the weight of the night still pressed him down.
My heart clenched. He looked so tired, so utterly broken. Without thinking, I reached out, fingers brushing through his hair. His lashes quivered, and slowly his eyes fluttered open.
"Good morning," I whispered, startled by the tenderness in my own voice.
"Good morning, my love," he answered, voice hoarse, almost fragile. The words should have warmed me, but the smile he gave was faint and shadowed, a smile that carried more sorrow than joy. It shattered something inside me.
