Morning comes without permission.
I wake before my alarm, staring at the pale grey light creeping along the ceiling, my body already tense like it never fully powered down overnight. It feels like I only skimmed the surface of sleep, never really sinking into it. Layla is awake too. I can feel it instantly. Not pacing this time. Alert. Coiled. Watching. Like she’s been counting the minutes until dawn instead of resting.
I lie there for a moment, breathing slowly, letting the house reveal itself piece by piece. Pipes knock softly in the walls as someone downstairs turns on a tap. A door opens down the hall, then closes again. Footsteps pass, unhurried. The pack shifts from sleep into motion, that familiar low hum of shared routine settling into place. Mornings always sound like this. Pred
