I wake up before my alarm.
Not jolted. Not panicked. Just awake, like something inside me nudged a switch and decided sleep had served its purpose. The room is still dark, the edges of furniture softened by early light that hasn’t committed yet. For a second I lie there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet hum of the house settling around me.
Layla is already awake under my skin.
She isn’t pacing. She isn’t bristling. She’s listening.
Same, she murmurs, so calm it almost feels like a lie.
I sit up slowly and let my feet drop to the floor. The boards are cold. I welcome it. I scan the room out of habit, eyes tracing the doorway, the corners, the sliver of space behind the chair where a jacket hangs. Nothing’s out of place. No unfamiliar scents. No movement where there should
