Amelia’s POV
Morning came soft and slow.
Sunlight slipped through the half-drawn curtains, painting thin gold stripes across the bedroom floor. I woke to the quiet rhythm of Chase’s breathing—deep, even, the sound of a man who hadn’t slept properly in days. He was slumped in the armchair beside the bed, still in yesterday’s clothes, head tipped back, mouth slightly open. His hand was wrapped around mine—fingers loose but stubborn, like even in sleep he refused to let go.
I didn’t move at first.
I just watched him.
The scar on his jaw from the challenge fight had faded to a thin silver line. New bruises bloomed under his left eye—dark purple from the raid two nights ago. His knee was propped awkwardly on a pillow we’d dragged over; the brace looked like a cage he’d outgrown but couldn’
