Dylan woke before dawn, long before the pale light had begun to stain the horizon. The world outside the small roadside inn still rested beneath a veil of silence, untouched by the noise of passing engines or hurried footsteps. For several moments he remained seated on the edge of the bed, listening to the quiet rhythm of Lena's breathing. There was something strangely sacred about it, as though the fragile rise and fall of her chest tethered him to reality itself.
Carefully, so as not to wake her, he packed their belongings. The zipper of the travel bag rasped softly in the dim room. He paused every now and then, glancing toward her sleeping form, afraid even the smallest sound might disturb her peace. When he had finished, he stepped outside into the cold breath of the early morning.
