Morning came gently.
That alone felt wrong.
Elias woke to pale light filtering through the curtains, soft and unthreatening, as if the night before had not happened at all. As if there had been no gold-lit fury in his room, no breathless almost-kiss, no words sharp enough to draw blood.
His head ached faintly—residual wine, residual everything. His mouth still felt burn that no amount of water could cool.
A knock sounded.
Measured. Familiar.
He wondered why he was always woken up by knocks.
"Eli? Are you decent?"
It was his grandmother.
"Eli?" Mina's voice, gentler than usual. "We're coming in."
Elias sat up too quickly, the room tilting dangerously. He took a deep breath, forcing his heart rate to slow.
Before he could answer, the door opened.
Mina entered first, already assessing him with sharp eyes. Behind her came his grandmother, shawl neatly arranged, posture straight, gaze warm—solid, unshakable, and terrifyingly observant.
