The light in the glass lagoon didn't break; it dissolved. It began as a soft, translucent lilac, bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling silk hangings of the pavilion until the entire space felt suspended in a cloud of pressurized amethyst. There was no sound here, no server hum, no tactical chatter, only the rhythmic, primeval pulse of the Atlantic breathing against the glass pier below.
I woke slowly, my senses returning in waves. My skin felt sensitized, every nerve ending still singing from the white-out intensity of the night before. I was draped across Adrian, my head resting on the hollow of his shoulder, his arm a heavy, warm band across my mid-back.
He was awake. I could tell by the steady, deliberate cadence of his heart beneath my ear. He wasn't moving, as if he were trying to preserve the absolute, frozen sanctity of the moment.
