The view is the same as it is from his office, more or less. Manhattan in every direction, glittering, indomitable. But it all feels farther away than it ever has before. I’m insulated from it, or within it, in a way I can’t quite wrap my head around.
I can’t decide if it makes me feel safer, or if this is just the grim acceptance of a drowning victim who’s finally realized that no help is coming.
My reflection looks every bit as small and uncertain as I feel. Eyes tired, hair drooping, arms wrapped around myself like that’s the only thing keeping me together.
“Drink?” he asks, moving to the bar.
He pours two glasses of amber liquid and returns to stand next to me. I take the one he offers, our fingers brushing in the exchange. Even that small contact sends electricity shooting up my a
