Elara Dwijaya
The heavy, gilded doors of the Grand Hyatt swung shut behind me, muffling the chaotic roar of the ballroom. Inside, the air was a graveyard of rotting ambitions and the shattered remains of Rei Darvian’s pride. Outside, the world was brutally honest.
The Jakarta night hit me like a physical weight—humid, thick, and smelling faintly of exhaust fumes and damp asphalt. Usually, I’d recoil at the stickiness of the tropical air, but tonight, the smog tasted like honey. I drew a long, jagged breath, filling lungs that had been compressed by terror for far too long.
My legs were shaking.
The adrenaline was receding, leaving a hollow, trembling weakness in my joints. My heels clicked against the pavement in a frantic, uneven staccato as I moved away from the main entrance. Unifo
