Lucas rose from the chair in one smooth motion, his joints popping softly in protest. He rolled his shoulders back, jaw tight, and ran a hand through his hair.
"I need a shower," he said, already turning toward the private washroom.
"Please do," Ava muttered. "You smell like plasma and arrogance."
He threw her a smirk over his shoulder but didn't respond. The bathroom door slid shut behind him.
Ava remained on the bed, knees drawn to her chest, arms loosely around them as she stared at the empty chair he'd just vacated.
She was still processing.
Not the words—she could handle words.
The weight behind them. The bond. The way he'd said he'd wait, and somehow made it sound like a promise rather than a resignation.
The sound of the shower turning on gave her something else to focus on.
She let her eyes wander absently to the half-open wardrobe as Lucas emerged a few minutes later, a towel around his waist, another running through his wet hair.
She blinked.
Okay. That was new.
