The apartment Bella moved into was nothing like the penthouse.
It was smaller, warmer, imperfect. A narrow living room with uneven hardwood floors, a kitchen that smelled faintly of citrus cleaner, and a bedroom whose window looked out over a brick wall instead of the city’s endless glitter.
Chloe called it “temporary character development.”
Bella called it necessary.
She set her bag down, standing in the middle of the room as the quiet settled around her. No soft hum of hidden systems. No echoing space. No unspoken awareness of another presence moving just beyond her line of sight.
She hadn’t realized how much of her breath she’d been holding until now.
Still, the silence felt too loud.
“Make yourself at home,” Chloe said, dropping her keys into a bowl. “Ignore the stack of newspap
