The night pressed close against the penthouse windows, the river carrying the glow of the city on its shoulders. I stood there longer than I intended, watching the ebb and flow of headlights along the avenues below, the rhythm of a city that never bothered to sleep. It was steady, predictable in its chaos. The same couldn’t be said of my own head tonight.
Cheyenne’s eyes lingered in me still, sharper than any blade, softer than any reprieve I’ve ever allowed myself. She had asked me the question I knew was coming: What do you do for a living? And I’d given her just enough truth to hold onto, but not enough to let the walls crumble. She was patient, but not blind. Her instincts were strong, sharper than she realized. It’s part of why I can’t let her go.
I pressed a hand against the cold g
