The city below glimmered like a thousand secrets pretending to be harmless.
Amelia stood by the penthouse window long after the sky had darkened, her reflection faint against the glass. She had changed into one of Ethan’s shirts—too big, sleeves rolled, the hem brushing mid-thigh. It smelled like him in a way that made her chest ache instead of comfort her.
So much had been said.
And yet, somehow, not enough.
Behind her, the penthouse was quiet in that heavy, waiting way. No television. No music. Just the low hum of the building and the unspoken weight of everything Ethan had told her—truths laid bare but still carefully edited, like a story missing its final chapter.
She heard him before she saw him.
His footsteps were measured. Careful. As though he was afraid of spooking her, like
