I don’t tell Axel or Atticus what I’m planning, because the decision settles in my chest quietly and stubbornly, the way things do when I know I’ll be talked out of it if I give them the chance, and by the time the room goes dark and their breathing evens out on either side of me, I’ve already committed to it. I lie there for a while longer, staring at the ceiling and listening to the steady rhythm of sleep, letting the bond hum softly under my skin without reacting, because I don’t want to wake them and I don’t want to feel their concern pressing in on me yet.
When I finally move, I do it slowly, carefully sliding out from between warm bodies and sheets, my bare feet meeting the cold floor as I pause and wait, counting breaths until I’m sure they’re still asleep. The room feels different
