You’re standing in the doorway, one shoulder resting against the frame, a mug of steaming coffee warming your hands. The sky outside is still painted in shades of lavender and rose, the stars just beginning to fade into the coming dawn.

And there he is.

Nyx.

He’s standing at the edge of the balcony, bare feet on the stone, shirtless, wings slightly unfurled behind him like he forgot to tuck them in after waking. The wind plays with the ends of his dark curls as he stares out over Velaris, the city slowly stirring beneath the early light.

You don’t say anything. You just watch.

Watch the curve of his shoulders as they rise and fall with each breath. Watch the way his fingers flex slightly at his sides, like he’s thinking too much again. Watch the quiet strength of him — not just the warrior born from two legends, but the male who still kissed your forehead when you were half-asleep, who listened to your heartbeat like it was his favorite song.

He knows you’re there. Of course he does.

“You always wake up before me,” he says without turning, voice low and smooth.