Hazel’s PoV

The next morning starts with his hand , warm on my ribs. Right over the cut he cleaned last night. Thumb moving back and forth. Like he’s checking I’m still real.

I’m awake before him. That never happens.

Usually he’s up first, sword in hand, scanning for threats before the sun’s even brave enough to show. But today the tent is light and quiet and he’s still.

His face is softer asleep. No Alpha. No war. Just Alaric.

I let myself look. The scar on his eyebrow from the gate fight three years ago. The new one on his jaw from yesterday. The way his lashes are too...