The morning sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting streaks of warmth across the cold, gray walls of the safehouse. Elena stirred, the weight of the previous night pressing heavily on her chest. She didn’t know how to process the whirlwind of emotions Luca stirred within her.
She glanced to the corner of the room where his chair sat empty. The sight of it brought both relief and an unsettling ache. She needed space—to think, to breathe, to feel like herself again.
Minutes later, the door creaked open, and Luca stepped in. He held a steaming cup of coffee, his expression unreadable. Without a word, he set it on the nightstand and leaned against the wall, watching her carefully.
“Morning,” she mumbled, sitting up and brushing her hair back.
“Morning,” he replied. His voice was calm
