Morning routine is disrupted before I am fully awake.
I surface too early, consciousness snapping in without the gradual softness I prefer. No alarm. No external noise. Just a restless awareness that pulls me out of sleep like something unfinished tapping insistently at the edge of my mind. I lie there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, cataloging sensations instead of thoughts. Tightness in my chest. A low, unsettled hum beneath my skin, like something wound too tight and waiting. My wolf is not agitated, not pacing, just alert in a way that refuses to let me drift back under.
She is listening.
I give up on sleep before it can frustrate me further. There is no point fighting a body that has already decided the night is over.
The shower runs longer than necessary. I know that even a
