Fleeting Warmth

ROWAN’S POV

I wake to cold.

Not the gentle chill of early morning, but the particular emptiness that comes from sleeping alone in a bed that was, moments before, full of another body’s warmth.

My hand reaches across the sheets and finds nothing but cool fabric and the indentation where Vance’s head was pressed into the pillow. The bedside clock reads 4:17 AM.

I should stay in bed. Should roll over