Serena woke with a start.
The sheets beside her were cold.
The clock read 4:17 a.m., and the penthouse was cloaked in darkness. But she could feel it—Leon was awake again, somewhere in the apartment, pacing the way he did when haunted by shadows too old to name.
She threw on a silk robe and stepped barefoot into the hallway, her pulse humming with unspoken words.
She found him on the balcony, staring out over the sleeping city, a glass of bourbon untouched in his hand. His shirt was open at the collar, sleeves rolled to the elbows, hair tousled like he hadn’t slept in days.
“You’re going to burn out if you keep living like this,” she said softly.
He didn’t look at her. “That’s the plan.”
She stepped beside him. “What’s the endgame, Leon? When does it stop?”
He finally turned. There
