*Florence – Ponte Vecchio, Two Years Before Present*
Dawn broke like watercolor across the Arno. The air smelled of river mist and roasted chestnuts. Shop shutters were still down. The city had not yet remembered itself.
Claire stood on the bridge, arms wrapped around her torso, breath forming little clouds.
Edward arrived with a canvas bag slung over his shoulder and something behind his back.
“You're late," she teased, not turning.
“I'm never late," he replied. “I was just waiting for the light."
She turned to face him.
He stepped forward and pulled out a small ring—a braid of platinum, simple and elegant. It caught the morning sun like it was born to reflect it.
“I made it myself," he said. “It's not from a showroom. It's not expensive."
Claire stared.
“But it's real. Just lik
