Ashford had not changed enough.
That was the first thing Maya noticed.
The town sign was newer, the paint brighter than she remembered, and someone had replaced the old welcome slogan with a polished metal arch that looked as if a committee had spent six months agreeing on it. But beyond that, the same road curved past the same gas station, the same bakery, the same pharmacy beneath the narrow apartment where Noah Whitman had once opened his door at dawn and lost her forever.
Maya did not look at the second-floor windows.
Leo did.
Only for a second, but she caught it.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“You looked at me like I touched sterile equipment.”
“You looked at the pharmacy.”
“It was there.”
“So is the sky. You don’t need to inspect it.”
He took the correction without protest
