The Lamplighter was quiet, save for the soft click of glass against wood as Caspian wiped down the last of the wine glasses. Outside, the street had gone still hours ago. The windows reflected nothing but dim light and his own restless silhouette.
Caspian moved through the familiar motions: stacking menus, straightening chairs, locking the front door. But his mind wasn’t in any of it. Not tonight. His confession to Laura still pulsed like a raw wound beneath his ribs.
Her quiet departure, the way she’d left him standing in the silence of his apartment—it played on a loop in his head, refusing to loosen its hold.
He set the final glass on the shelf and exhaled slowly, fingers tightening on the edge of the counter.
Then, he heard it. The faint, unmistakable sound of the back door creaki
