The first thing I did when I woke was thank every god willing to listen — silently, breathlessly, over and over again inside my mind.
D'ath hadn't come.
No giant raven‑dragon had torn its way through lead‑framed glass or thick iron bars.
Sunlight already spilled warm and thick.
I was alive.
A victory. Small — fragile even — but still entirely mine.
I stretched slow beneath heavy wool blankets, groaning soft as stiff muscles unknotted. Light poured in golden streaks through heavy embroidered curtains, turning dust‑motions into slow‑dancing gold.
Morning. Bright. Ordinary. Safe. Or so I desperately told myself.
I smiled — genuine, shaky relief.
Then opened my eyes fully… and lost that smile instantly.
Draven was already awake.
Of course he was. Sleeping late or losing hours to rest were luxuries men like him simply did not permit themselves.
