The morning had a different quality.
Not just the hospital morning — she'd been in enough hospital mornings to know their specific texture. This was the specific quality of the morning after the thing that had been building for a year and a half had arrived. The specific quality of waking in a room that contained something it hadn't contained yesterday.
Davan.
Asleep in the bassinet. The dark hair. The grey eyes that would confirm themselves in the coming weeks. The small specific face of someone who had been a frequency in a bond and was now a person in a room.
Zevran was asleep in the chair.
She'd known he would be — he'd finally gone somewhere between three and four, when Davan had settled and the bond had gone quiet and the city outside had done its deepest-hour thing.
She looked
