Anya’s POV
I slipped under again without meaning to.
Sleep took me softly this time, not the heavy kind filled with dreams, but something lighter, floating. My body felt warm. Too warm for a plane.
Then something moved.
A gentle pressure on my arm. Careful. Like whoever touched me was afraid I might disappear if they weren’t slow enough.
“Anya.”
My name sounded different in his voice. Lower. Quieter.
I stirred, blinking as my lashes fluttered open. The cabin lights were dim now, washed in a soft glow. Everything felt hushed, like the plane itself was holding its breath.
Orion was close.
Too close.
He was bent toward me, one hand resting on my arm, his fingers barely curved, not gripping, just there. His face looked different up close like this. Less sharp. Less carved from stone.
