With a sigh, Ethari heads to the kitchen to start on breakfast. A few minutes later, you appear, looking as if you’re only half-awake. Your eyes are barely open, ears drooping, and you’re dressed in one of Ethari’s oversized shirts paired with your boxers. You shiver as you cross the room, occasionally muttering curses when your foot catches on your hair—usually neat and tightly braided, but now a loose, disheveled cascade trailing along the floor. The greatest assassin of Xadia looks like an adorable mess in the mornings. You lean onto Ethari’s shoulder, mumbling incoherently in a sleepy, slurred voice, blinking drowsily up at him. He laughs and smiles. “Good morning, love.”