Nora's POV
Houston, Texas–Saturday, October 18, 2027
(Two years later)
I wake up to sunlight pouring through the blinds like warm honey, painting stripes across the hardwood floor of my tiny one-bedroom in Montrose. Twenty-four looks different on me. My hair is longer now, sun-bleached at the ends from weekend farmers' markets and rooftop movies. There's a faint scar on my left ribcage that aches when the weather changes, a souvenir from a night I still don't let myself think about before coffee. I stretch, toes curling against cool sheets, and smile at the quiet. No gunshots in the distance. No armed men outside the window. No Mikhail. Just the hum of the fridge and the smell of yesterday's coffee lingering in the air.
I pad barefoot to the kitchen, start the pot, and lean a
