It was well past midnight, the darkness of the night stretching endlessly, but the hum of the city never ceased. The private jet that had whisked Neoma away to more elaborate chaos and into the looming uncertainty of Manila was now a distant memory. She sat, staring blankly out the window of a modest condominium unit owned by Joule Gozon’s mother, Selena. The moonlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting long, ghostly shadows across the room.
Sol had been quiet as he entered the unit with her, his presence heavy in the air, as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. He had been with her through it all—through the horrors she had suffered, through the tension of their escape, through the raw, unspoken moments they had shared. But now, in this unfamiliar place, the
