The room is pale with early light. Somewhere outside, birds have started. You're warm in a way you haven't been in months. The kind of warm that comes from another person's weight beside you, steady breathing, a heartbeat under your cheek that feels like the only sound in the world. Then it hits you. His name. You said it last night. Half-asleep, barely conscious, but you said it like it meant something. Adam has a rule: no repeat clients. You are already his third session. And when you tilt your head up, he isn't asleep.