[Killian]
She turns her back to me and walks out.
I should let her go. Every word she said was a wall laid in mortar, and my promise eighteen months ago was mortar of my own. Clean lines. Final terms.
But my feet carry me to the doorway anyway. Not chasing. Just standing there, watching her move toward the elevator, her wet coat dripping a trail on the carpet.
Then she stops. Not the way people stop when they've forgotten something. The way a machine stops when the power cuts.
Her knees go first. A small buckle, almost graceful, like they've decided to opt out. Then her whole body follows. Forward, loose, puppet with the strings snipped. Her cheek hits the tile with a sound that reaches into my stomach and twists.
I'm running before I've decided to run.
My knees hit the floor next t
