Chapter 32

• Asher woke up with a crick in his neck and a curse under his breath.
• The couch was barely wide enough to hold his shoulders, and definitely not long enough to fit his legs. His feet had hung off the edge all night, one arm draped across his chest, the other curled under a throw pillow that smelled vaguely like Ellis—lavender and turpentine and something warm he didn’t have a name for.
• He blinked up at the ceiling, squinting against the thin stripes of golden light cutting through the shuttered windows.