The morning didn’t burst into the apartment the way some mornings did. It didn’t blaze or shout or insist on being noticed. Instead, it slipped into the space like a soft hum—gentle, light-treading, almost shy. Violet woke to that quiet hum, blinking slowly as her thoughts arranged themselves without rush.

Her body felt rested. Her mind felt steady.

A strange steadiness, but a welcomed one.

The faint aroma of something warm drifted from the kitchen—herbs, toasted bread, maybe even a hint of cinnamon. She stretched beneath the covers, letting the blankets slide off her shoulders, and allowed herself to linger in bed for a moment.

Bryan was awake.

She didn’t...