Noah woke up to the sound of his own stomach growling in the dead quiet of the room. He blinked against the darkness, the faint, consistent sweep of the harbor beacon outside casting a rhythmic silver light across the ceiling. It was 2:42 AM. The heavy, bone-deep exhaustion from their earlier sessions had worn off, leaving behind a sharp, hollow emptiness in his gut. They had been so busy avoiding cameras and scrambling through kitchen doors at the restaurant that they'd barely managed three actual bites of their meal.
Beside him, Sophie stirred. The heavy duvet shifted, and she let out a low, groggy hum, her dark hair splaying across his arm as she blinked up at him.
"Tell me that was a beast outside and not your stomach," she muttered, her voice thick with sleep.
"I wish it was a beast," Noah said, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. "I could at least punch a monster. I'm starving, Soph."
