(LANCE )
The penthouse was wrapped in the quiet hush of early evening, the city lights beginning to sparkle far below like scattered jewels against a darkening sky. I stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows, the ankle monitor a constant, quiet weight against my skin. Its soft chime marked another permitted step within the invisible boundaries of house arrest. The air carried the comforting scents of dinner being prepared — roasted herbs, garlic, and fresh bread — mixed with the faint floral trace of Eliona’s tea as she moved quietly behind me at the dining table.
She set a mug of tea beside me and rested her hand on my shoulder, her touch warm and grounding. The faint memory of her hooded and bound still lived in the protective way I covered her hand with mine. The bruise on her cheek had
