Chapter 49: "The Chonker Sentinel and the Architect's Week of Stillness"
I awoke under the heaviest, most comforting suffocation known to sapient life — a living, breathing, half-ton security blanket that smelled faintly of ozone and blood sap. She sprawled across me like a psionic avalanche, one that just so happened to purr in her sleep and occasionally snort through her oversized nostrils.
The blanket in question was, of course, Sapphire. Named not for her temperament — which could only be described as possessive dragon meets lazy ocean tide — but for those massive, uncanny blue eyes of hers that shimmered like liquefied gemstones under stormlight.
I gave a lazy neck roll and mumbled into the crook of her shoulder, "Morning, Sapphire."
