The penthouse was dark when they arrived.
Julian didn't turn on the lights. He walked through the living room by memory alone, his hand still wrapped around Vivian's, pulling her past the empty kitchen and the cold fireplace and the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over a city asleep. He stopped in front of the couch and finally let go of her.
"Sit," he said. It wasn't an order. It sounded like a request, and a desperate one at that.
Vivian sat. She set her bag on the floor between her feet and watched him move to the window. He stood with his back to her, his hands braced against the glass, his head bowed. The city lights reflected off his silhouette, turning him into a shadow framed by stars.
"You read the journal," he said. His voice was flat. Empty. "Tell me what it said."
