The rooftop wind carried no words. Just silence.
Jack Parker stood at its edge, hands in his coat pockets. Emily lingered beside him like a memory, like fog that wouldn’t lift.
When she asked if he still loved her, Jack said nothing.
Did silence count as an answer?
Emily’s breath misted in the moonlight. She didn’t push further. She simply whispered, “Goodnight, Jack,” and walked away, vanishing into the dark.
Jack didn’t stop her.
Two nights later, Sarah Thompson smoothed her silver dress in the mirror and turned to Jack, who leaned by the door in black jeans and a button-down shirt. No tie. No suit. Just his usual sharp-edged nonchalance.
“Are you seriously going like that?” she asked.
Jack smirked. “Why? I clean up nice.”
“You clean up dangerously. You’ll get us kicked out.”
“
