I carried her to the bedroom. Cheon was already curled under the covers, her blue hair spread across the pillow like a river of ice. She stirred when we climbed in, reaching for us without opening her eyes.
Three people in a bed meant for two. Tangled limbs and shared warmth and the drain humming between us like a lullaby.
I fell asleep faster than I had in years.
The morning came too quickly.
My alarm screamed at seven. Cheon was already up, showered, and dressed in something that screamed professional intimidation. Mera groaned into her pillow and refused to acknowledge the existence of sunlight.
"Coffee's ready," Cheon said when I stumbled into the kitchen. "Your suit's pressed. Marco will be downstairs in forty minutes."
"When did you become my mother?"
"When you proved incapable of managing your own schedule. Now drink your coffee and shower. You smell like sex."
"Whose fault is that?"
"Yours, for being insatiable."
"That's definitely not a complaint."
