New York in spring had a way of pretending it wasn’t the same city that ate its own the moment you blinked. The air still held a bite, but the avenues were blooming, street vendors with cheap bouquets, sun glancing off glass towers like a dare.
Celeste pressed her forehead to the window of their car as they turned onto Park Avenue. She’d almost forgotten how this city could hum beneath your skin, the old energy that made her feel fifteen and fearless for a minute. But this time it was different. She wasn’t here to hustle. She wasn’t here to beg for a seat at the table. This time, they’d invited her.
Damien glanced at her reflection in the tinted glass, his expression unreadable but warm at the edges. “You ready for this?”
Celeste lifted one shoulder in a small shrug. “I suppose I am.”
