Eliza woke up to the cold, damp dawn air slipping through the open windows. The murmur of the waterfall reached her from the distance, deep and constant, like an ancient heart beating underground.
For a moment, she didn't know where she was.
The echo of her dream still held her in its threads—a dream where the hands that touched her were firm yet tender, where the voice that called her sounded like an oath, and the feeling of belonging seemed so real it hurt—.
She opened her eyes slowly.
The crimson silk sheets enveloped her like a caress, and the faint dawn light filtered through the windows, bathing the room in amber and wine hues. The air smelled of damp wood, extinguished fire, and Lucian's unmistakable scent.
She turned her head and saw him.
Standing on the balcony, bare-chested, his face hardened by thoughts he wouldn't share. The dawn mist outlined him like a living shadow.
