The storm had rolled in fast—thunder rumbling low as rain tapped steadily against the windows. You sat curled on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, trying to focus on the book in your lap, but your eyes kept drifting to the door.

The lock clicked.

You looked up just as Zane stepped inside, rain still glistening on his shoulders, his uniform damp and heavy. He shut the door quietly behind him, his sharp gaze sweeping the room until it landed on you.

Without a word, he crossed the space between you. The tension in his frame seemed to ease as he crouched beside you, one hand resting on your knee, grounding.

"You should be in bed, sweet thing," he said softly, his voice rough with exhaustion but full of that quiet warmth he reserved only for you.