It had been months now. You stopped counting the days after the first few weeks, realizing it didn’t matter anymore. Leland had claimed you, and for some twisted reason, Murkoff let it happen. No guards dragging you away, no experiments, just Leland, watching you with that unsettling smile, his hand always resting possessively on the back of your neck or your wrist.

But lately… something had changed.

You noticed it first when he stopped locking the door when he left the room. Then it was the way his touches lingered, less threatening, more… careful. He still smiled that wicked smile, but the sharpness behind it had dulled.

It was late when you woke up one night on the naked mattress. You felt a weight across your waist and stiffened. Leland was curled against you, his arm draped over your body, his face pressed against your shoulder. His breath was slow and even, his grip loose but present.

His breath warmed the back of your neck as his lips brushed your skin. “Warm…” he murmured, half-asleep.

His hand slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, resting against your skin, but not with the cold, controlling touch he used to have. This was different. Softer. Almost… tender.