Killian awoke at six, the soft morning light filtering through the curtains. His focus was drawn to the left arm that bore the lingering scar of a bullet's impact. He cursed under his breath as a faint throb hit through the wound. "Fuck!"

Yet, as the haze of sleep cleared, his gaze involuntarily shifted toward Amara who was peacefully slumbering on the couch, an ethereal stillness surrounding her. Unconsciously, he found himself studying every delicate feature of hers, the gentle curve of her lips, the rise and fall of her chest with each breath. The soft morning light had painted her features in a delicate glow.