The room felt different now—warmer, safer, a sanctuary carved out from the polished dangers of the gala. She moved closer again, this time without any hesitation, sliding beneath the covers and turning slightly toward him. Her hand reached out instinctively, finding the sleeve of his shirt and holding onto it lightly, as if anchoring herself in the quiet.
He looked down at her, his expression quieter, the intensity still present but tempered by something gentler. "Tired?" he asked, his voice low.
"A little," she admitted, the word softer than before, carrying the honest weight of the evening.
