Nero woke before dawn. The room was still dark, the only light a pale sliver through the curtains. Khione lay beside him, her breathing slow and deep, her white hair spread across the pillow like moonlight on snow. He watched her for a moment, memorizing the softness of her face in sleep, the way her lips parted slightly, the gentle rise and fall of her chest.
He slipped out of bed without a sound. His clothes were folded on the chair where he had left them. He dressed quickly, pulling on his training gear, then paused at the door. He looked back at her. She had not stirred. Good. The consequences of being found in her room before morning would be dire—rumors, questions, the cold disapproval of the academy's moral guardians. He did not care for himself, but for her, he would be careful.
