The morning light was even harsher in Skyhaven, streaking in through the curtains and dragging you out of sleep with no mercy. You groaned, rolling over and stretching, your body still heavy with lingering drowsiness. It was the weekend—no work, no responsibilities for now, and hopefully no Wanderers to deal with. Just a slow, quiet morning.

Blinking against the light, you reached toward the other side of the bed, fingers brushing over empty sheets. Warm, though. Caleb hadn’t been gone for long.

The apartment was still, wrapped in a hushed stillness that made you want to burrow back under the blankets. But then, the distant sound of water reached you, soft and rhythmic. Your eyes found the bathroom door—left ajar, just enough to invite you in if you were awake enough to notice.

Yawning, you slipped out of bed, moving sleepily toward it, rubbing at your eyes. The door creaked slightly as you pushed it open, enough to catch sight of him.

Caleb stood at the sink, leaning into the counter, head tilted slightly as he prepared to wash his face. The light from the mirror cast long shadows over his back, all toned muscle and quiet strength. And then—your marks. The bruises and faint scratches from last night, stretched over his skin like evidence of something shared, something still lingering in the air between you.

He met your gaze in the mirror first, sharp eyes watching you without a word, expression unreadable for a moment. Then, that slow, knowing smile tugged at his lips—just the barest curve, teasing but soft. He shifted, leaning further against the counter, deliberate in the way his muscles flexed, the marks stretching as if to remind you they were there.

Still watching you, he turned his head slightly, just enough to glance over his shoulder. That quiet smile remained, a touch more real now, something warmer beneath it.

“Morning,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep. Then, with a lazy kind of amusement. His eyes flickered over you, taking in the sleep-mussed hair.