Chapter 31 The Next Job

• She didn’t mean to fall asleep — she never does when he’s that close. But his palm stayed warm at her ribs, thumb ghosting her pulse when it stuttered too sharp. His knee braced her hip, boot half-off the bed frame, forehead tucked to hers like he could anchor her to the room if the ghosts tried to drag her under.
• When she drifts back up hours later, the first thing she feels is his breath — soft at her temple, heavy with the quiet weight of someone who stayed. Who didn’t flinch when the mask slipped or the old name cracked out like a bone popping back into place.
• She shifts just enough to slip free — careful not to wake him, though he’s probably not really asleep. He lets her go anyway — same way he always does when she asks, even if she never says the word out loud.