Mia stands outside the treatment room door, knuckles raised to knock, and takes one breath.
She knows who's waiting on the other side. The man from the escalator, from the rehearsal stage, from the bar corridor, from every inconvenient corner of the past three weeks.
She pushes the door open before she can think about it further.
Elias is sitting on the treatment table with his back to her, athletic jacket shrugged halfway off, hanging from his neck.
His bare shoulders fill the room in a way that feels slightly unreasonable. He's pressing his left hand against his right shoulder, knuckles pale with the effort, head bowed so his hair falls forward across his face.
Mia clears her throat.
He turns. The moment he registers her face, something flickers behind his eyes—surprise, quickly re
