Three bodies on one mattress. Three people breathing in the same stale air. Three heartbeats I've learned to recognize in the dark.

Tristan's on my left, lying on his back with one arm thrown over his head, his breathing slow and deliberate even in sleep. There's a tension in his jaw that doesn't fully relax, like he's ready to spring up at the first wrong sound.

Dylan's on my right, curled toward me, his face half-buried in the pillow. His hand rests close enough that I can feel the warmth of his knuckles against my hip.

The space between them is me. Always me.

Tristan's hand is already on my arm, grip firm, before I've even processed the sound. His eyes are open, sharp, and he doesn't blink.