Alina’s POV

The morning sunlight was cruel. Too bright, too sharp, slicing through the curtains like it had something to prove. My eyes burned when I opened them, and my body ached with the weight of another night of fractured sleep.

Beside me, Dante was already awake, propped up on an elbow, studying me like I was a puzzle he couldn’t solve. His fingers brushed a strand of hair from my face, careful, almost reverent.

“You didn’t really sleep,” he said.

“Neither did you.” My voice was rough, unused.

“I don’t need to.” His gaze flicked over my features again, cataloguing every shadow, every line of exhaustion. “You do.”

I...