AMARANTA POV
I woke slowly, as if surfacing through layers of warm water, consciousness returning in fragments before thought could catch up with sensation, and the first thing I registered was not light or sound but touch — slow, steady, deliberate touch — fingers moving lazily up and down the side of my neck in a rhythm so gentle and grounding that for a suspended second I didn’t question it, didn’t question why it felt safe, why my body leaned instinctively into it instead of flinching away.
Then memory returned.
Hospital.
Confession.
His hand in mine in the dark.
My truths spilling like something cracked open.
My eyes snapped open.
I wasn’t in the hospital.
I wasn’t alone.
I was… warm.
Very warm.
Too warm.
And solid.
And very much pressed against something very solid.
My
