Noel woke slowly.
The air was warm and still, the faint light of a desk lamp casting a soft golden hue across the old wooden floor and shelves. It took him a moment to remember where he was.
The couch.
The quiet room.
Her.
He blinked, then tilted his head slightly.
Elyra was asleep.
Her head leaned gently against the back of the couch, one hand resting loosely in her lap. Her long black hair had come undone from its usual braid and now fell freely over her shoulder, strands curling slightly where the light touched them. It framed her face in a way that softened the edges, revealing sharp cheekbones, calm features, and the calm, unbothered elegance that followed her even in sleep.
Noel didn't move.
He just watched her, eyes tracing the lines of her face, the way her chest rose in quiet rhythm, the curve of her lashes over closed eyes.
'So she can actually sleep.'
He almost smiled.
Almost.
Then, without warning, her eyes opened—slowly at first.
