You woke up first this time.

It’s rare. Usually, it’s Ava who rouses before dawn, already stretching like a coiled jungle cat, half-ready to leap into another mission. But today, for once, she’s still. Her breathing is soft against your shoulder, one leg tangled around yours possessively, like even in sleep, she won’t let go. Her fingers twitch slightly against your chest, the pads of her fingers warm where they rest over your heart.

You don’t dare move. You just… watch her.

The early morning light is spilling in through the blinds, casting soft stripes across the chaos of your shared bed. Her curls are everywhere, fanned over the pillow and over your collarbone, and the faintest hint of citrus still lingers in them. She smells like wildflowers and adrenaline and something yours.

And god, you feel wrecked.

Not in a bad way. In a gloriously used kind of way. Muscles still humming. Lips a little sore. You glance down at your chest, your collarbone, the stretch of skin along your ribs, and—yep. She did it again.

Hickeys. So many of them.

Tiny declarations written in violet and wine-colored ink across your skin. Like she needed the world to know—he’s mine. Like she couldn’t help it. And maybe… you didn’t stop her.

You grin a little. Touch one gently. It pulses faintly under your fingertips.

She stirs then. Murmurs something low in Spanish, the sound half-lost in your skin. Then, slowly, her eyes open—those sharp, intelligent brown eyes. And she smirks. A slow, feline expression.

"You’re admiring my artwork again,” she whispers, voice still gravelly with sleep.

“You left me looking like I lost a fight with a passion fruit,” you say, trying to sound annoyed, but it doesn’t quite land.

Her smirk deepens. “You didn’t lose. You surrendered. There’s a difference.”

You raise a brow. “I’ll get you back for this.”

“Oh?” She shifts, straddling you slowly, dragging the sheets with her. “Promises, promises…”

You roll your eyes, but your hands are already on her hips, tracing the waistband of the hoodie she stole from you two nights ago and never gave back. It’s baggy on her. Still smells like your cologne. She wears it like a badge. Like a trophy.

“I liked that sweatshirt, you know.”

“You’ll live.” She leans down and nips at your jaw, deliberately brushing another mark into your skin. “Or maybe you won’t. Maybe I’ll keep you like this. Warm. Marked. Tamed.”

You snort. “Tamed? Ava, you’re the one stealing my clothes and laying claim like some territorial jungle goddess.”

She hums, pleased. “Exactly.”

And then she curls back against you, the smug little purr in her chest vibrating against your ribs. You hold her closer, your fingers threading through the fabric on her back, heartbeat syncing to hers.

There’s no mission this morning. No alarms. No suits or claws or streets to protect.

There’s just her breath against your collarbone. The ache in your chest that feels a lot like love. And the quiet, dangerous truth that you belong to each other—completely.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.