The first light of dawn spilled into their chamber, gilding the sheets with gold. Rudra lay sprawled beside her, arm heavy around her waist, his face softened in slumber. He looked almost boyish like this—unguarded, stripped of his rage.

Durga stared at him, her mind in chaos. The night before had begun in fury, in threats and dominance. Yet, it had ended with worship, with whispered confessions pressed against her skin. She had felt his body claim hers, not like a conqueror but like a man desperate not to break.