Franz woke before daybreak.
The room was dark—curtains drawn, not a sliver of light pushing through. He didn't know what had pulled him from sleep. His body had simply decided it was time to be awake, and his mind had followed without complaint.
Arianne was beside him. Still asleep.
Her back was to him, the curve of her spine just visible above the edge of the blanket, her dark hair spread across the pillow in a way she would never have allowed if she were conscious enough to arrange it. She slept like someone who had forgotten she was being watched.
He lay still for a moment, listening to her breathe. Slow. Even. Unconscious in a way she never permitted herself during the day, when every breath was measured, every movement careful.
Then he moved closer.
