The house was quiet when they got back from the park.

Elena walked through the garage door ahead of Marcus with the thick outdoor load still warm between her legs and the lower marks aching under her sweater and the residual adrenaline of the open path and the river still sitting in her blood. She did not go upstairs on her own. She stopped in the kitchen and waited, hands at her sides, because the new shape of the dynamic had taught her that waiting was part of the ownership.

Marcus locked the door behind them, set his keys on the counter, and looked at her for a long moment...