The summit ended in applause.
But applause fades.
What remains is quiet.
That night, the city felt softer.
Paris after midnight does not rush. It breathes. The river moves steadily. Streetlights reflect against stone buildings that have witnessed centuries of ambition rise and fall.
I stood alone by the hotel window, heels abandoned near the sofa, hair loosened from its precise structure.
The reflection staring back at me was composed.
But beneath it, something was shifting.
Not doubt.
Not fear.
Awareness.
There is a difference between winning a moment and crossing a threshold.
Today felt like a threshold.
Adrian emerged from the bedroom, jacket removed, sleeves rolled slightly. He watched me without speaking.
“You are quiet,” he said finally.
“I am thinking.”
“About Camill
