Archer

I blink awake, groggy and disoriented from the weirdly deep sleep I clawed my way out of to be here. The room is shadowed and still, filled with small snores and light breathing. Trystan’s back burns hot against my legs, and I think, Jesus, he’s like a furnace. How does Sable sleep next to that?

I’m sitting up, my back against the headboard and my head angled down awkwardly in a position not meant for sleeping. I tilt it the other way, hoping to pop the crick out of my neck. The bones crackle like rapid gunfire, and I groan with relief, sagging back against the headboard and glancing...