The rain had become relentless, turning the world outside into a misty blur and the house on Maple Lane into a pressure cooker. Five days after the festival ended, the quiet summer days felt suffocating. Every creak of the floorboards, every shared meal, every casual conversation carried the weight of the secret we were barely keeping.
I woke in Elias’s bed again, my body curled against his chest, his arm draped heavily over my waist. His hand rested on my stomach, fingers splayed in that familiar, clingy way, as if he could hold the future in place by touch alone. He wasn’t asleep. His thumb traced slow circles on my skin, the same soothing pattern that had become our private morning ritual.
“Morning, love,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to my temple. His voice was low and rough. “I kee
