The alarm clock never needed to ring in Vidyut's room. His body had long been conditioned to rise at five. The first sliver of dawn had not yet broken, and the villa was wrapped in silence so thick it almost hummed. Vidyut's eyes opened sharply, dark irises focusing instantly as though sleep had only ever been a pause in vigilance.

Beside him, Myra lay sprawled in the vastness of the bed, her small chest rising and falling in even rhythm. She was cocooned by pillows on all sides, her curls a halo across the white sheets. For a moment, his harsh expression softened. Vidyut leaned forward, brushing a strand of hair away from her tiny forehead. She murmured in her sleep, half-turning, but did not wake. He pressed a light kiss against her warm skin, a gesture almost reverent, before straightening again.