The residue of their unsettling dinner lingered in the air like a physical weight. While the plates had been cleared and the scent of medium-rare steak had begun to dissipate, the cloying aroma of Elea’s rose perfume remained, anchored to the fabric of the sofa and the stillness of the room. They sat together in the living room of the Enge penthouse, a space designed for comfort that now felt like a high-stakes observation post. The lighting was dimmed to a soft, amber glow, casting long, dancing shadows across the minimalist decor. To any neighbor looking through the window from across the street, they appeared to be the picture of domestic tranquility: a beautiful couple winding down with their respective books after a long day.
Kai held a leather-bound volume on European history, but
