(LANCE )
The penthouse felt smaller with every passing day under federal oversight. Late morning light poured through the tall windows, turning the marble floors into glowing rivers of gold and highlighting the sleek black band of the ankle monitor on my leg. Its soft, periodic chime marked another permitted step within the invisible boundaries of house arrest. The air carried the comforting scents of fresh-ground coffee, warm pastries from the monitored kitchen, and the faint floral trace of Eliona’s shampoo as she moved quietly beside me at the dining table.
Eliona refilled my mug, her fingers brushing mine. The faint shadow of her bruise had vanished completely, but the memory of her hooded and bound still lived in the protective way I watched her every movement. She sat across from m
