Morning light filtered through the thin curtains, painting stripes across the bed. Valentina blinked awake, disoriented. Her fever had broken sometime in the night, leaving her wrung out but clearer-headed.
The space beside her was empty, but the imprint on the pillow told her Duke had stayed. The scent of coffee drifted from the kitchenette.
She sat up slowly, testing her strength. Her body ached, but the bone-deep chill had subsided. Progress.
“Morning.”
Duke stood in the doorway, two mugs in hand. He’d changed clothes—someone must have brought him fresh ones. His hair was damp, like he’d showered in her tiny bathroom.
“Morning.” Her voice was still raspy. “You stayed.”
He handed her a mug—cream, no sugar, just how she liked it. Another thing he remembered.
“Your fever spiked agai
