DRAKENFELL — DEXMON'S QUARTERS
Serena made it through the door of Dex's chambers before her body quit.
Her knees buckled two steps past the threshold, and she caught herself on the edge of the bed, lowering onto the mattress. She collapsed backward, arms spread, white hair fanning across the dark sheets, her breathing ragged and her body vibrating with the residual ache of fifteen shifts and forty-seven minutes of blade work and the kind of emotional exhaustion that lived in bones rather than muscles.
She stared at the ceiling. The ceiling stared back. The ceiling had no opinions about her day and she was grateful for its neutrality.
Dex closed the door behind him. He looked at her, splayed across his bed and immediately followed by movement because Dexmon Drakenfell did not assess problems without solving them and the problem was that his mate was broken and the solution was a bath.
