Sunlight stabbed Stiles's swollen eyelids awake. The empty space beside her still held Derek's warmth—and the cedar scent on her pillow made her throat tighten. She found him downstairs buttoning his shirt, the morning light gilding the scratches she'd left down his back.

"Made coffee," he said without turning, fingers pausing on a cufflink. The silence stretched until Stiles padded over—her silk robe sliding off one shoulder as she reached for the envelope on the counter. It bulged conspicuously, crisp bills visible through the translucent paper.