The sun had'nt risen yet… but the Manhattan towers already hummed with light.
Isla stood on the floor of Damien’s penthouse… a silk robe clung to her skin… her coffee untouched in her hand. The glass was cold beneath her fingertips. Below… the city moved like a serpent… quiet… calculating… always watching.
Damien stirred behind her… the sheets rustling as he propped himself against the headboard.
“You’re thinking too loud,” he said… voice sleep-rough… still warm with everything they had shared just hours ago.
“I always think loud,” Isla replied softly.
“You just know how to hear me now.”
He didn’t answer. She turned to find him watching her… that same unreadable force in his eyes. But now… it was tinged with something softer. Hope… maybe. Or the ghost of it.
They had survived the
