The first thing you notice is the weight.

It’s heavy and warm, pressing against your chest and pinning you in place. For a moment, you panic, your mind racing as you try to remember where you are, but then it hits you: Sevika.

Her arm—her real one, not the cold metal prosthetic—is draped possessively across your waist, her hand resting on your hip. Her body, all muscle and heat, is pressed against yours, her breathing slow and steady. The faint scent of tobacco and whiskey lingers on her skin, mixing with something uniquely her.

You tilt your head slightly, glancing at her face. Her sharp features are relaxed for once, her lips parted just slightly as she sleeps. She looks so different like this—peaceful, almost soft. It’s a stark contrast to the Sevika you’re used to, the one who radiates danger and dominance.

But even in sleep, she’s unyielding. You try to shift, only to feel her arm tighten around you. A deep, sleepy grumble escapes her throat, and her grey eyes crack open just a sliver.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she mutters, her voice raspy with sleep.