Sophia was roused by Clara. A hand on her shoulder, her name, twice, and then Sophia came back to herself like a diver surfacing—sudden, gasping, eyes wide, hands flying to her chest before she registered where she was and then going very still.
Between them they worked Hana's ropes loose.
Hana's arms came down from above her head and she made a sound—low, deep, almost grateful—and her eyes cracked open. She looked at the ceiling. At Priya's face above her. At her own wrists, the faint red lines from the silk.
"Mm." She didn't say anything else for a moment. Then: "Is it morning."
"Yes," Priya said.
"Good."
She sat up.
Her breasts fell forward with the movement—heavy, marked, the lactation-trigger from last night still present in the slight fullness of them—and she pressed both hands against them for a moment, wincing, before lowering them and simply accepting the soreness as information.
She looked at Raven.
He looked back.
