The night air in city was unusually still, the frantic, neon-drenched energy of the metropolis muffled by the thick, soundproof glass of the high-rise apartment. Inside the master bedroom, Ace Kane and Lora Hale lay beneath the heavy silk sheets, the pale, ethereal moonlight tracing the elegant contours of their figures as it filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows. They were locked in a gentle, protective embrace, the kind of profound closeness that spoke of two souls finally finding a harbor after a lifetime of storms. They spoke in hushed, melodic tones, exchanging the sort of tender, whispered promises that only exist in the fragile, honest space between wakefulness and sleep. Yet, despite the palpable, electric heat shimmering between them, they did nothing more.
Ace Kane was a
