Violet lay against Bryan’s chest, her cheek resting just above his heartbeat, and felt the steadiness beneath her ear. The city beyond the curtains moved in distant murmurs, traffic gliding along wet streets, a siren fading somewhere far below. Inside the bedroom, however, the air seemed thicker, warmer, shaped by the slow discipline they had practiced together.

She traced her fingertips lightly along his ribs, not to provoke, but to confirm that he was there, solid and present. His breath shifted in response, deepening just enough for her to notice. He did not tense. He did not pull her closer. He allowed the touch to exist without trying to steer...