Dinner ended in the unremarkable way most domestic evenings did—bowls stacked, chopsticks aligned, the faint scent of sautéed vegetables still hanging in the air—but the undercurrent inside the apartment felt subtly altered. Something about the rhythm of the household had shifted, almost imperceptibly, as if an invisible gear had clicked into place.
Clara Lynn rose first.
She slung her bag over one shoulder and turned back at the door, her youthful face lit with a conspiratorial grin. “Conrad, when you have time, come visit Haven University. I’ll introduce you to my roommates.”
She said it once, then twice more, as though worried he might forget. There was warmth in her tone—genuine, unguarded warmth.
Conrad Stone gave an easy nod. “I’ll come.”
Only after she disappeared into the corr
