The city was hushed in that way it only ever seemed to be on a Sunday night—after the brunch crowds had faded, after the traffic had died, after people tucked themselves into routines and responsibilities again. From Sophia’s apartment, the skyline shimmered through rain-speckled glass, and the low hum of jazz from the speaker filled the silence between breaths.
Isabelle sat curled into one corner of the couch, her knees drawn tight, fingers wrapped around a glass of wine she hadn’t sipped. She wasn’t even sure why she’d poured it. Habit, maybe. Or denial.
Sophia walked in with a bowl of popcorn and two folded blankets, wearing a hoodie with the sleeves pushed up and the kind of soft leggings that had never seen a gym. She glanced at Isabelle—really glanced—and froze mid-step.
“Okay. So
