The mountain air was a living thing, cool and sharp with the scent of damp moss and ancient pine. It settled over the ridge east of Jakarta like a silent benediction, brushing against the wooden railing where Hana Wijaya-Raka stood. Below her, the valley was a sea of velvet shadows, but the horizon was already bleeding into a pale, translucent violet. She wasn't holding a coffee mug this time. Instead, her hands were empty, fingers loosely laced together, resting on the weathered timber.
She felt the vibration of footsteps on the planks behind her—steady, rhythmic, and familiar enough to be a part of her own pulse. She didn't need to turn to know it was Ethan.
"You’re up before the data," he said, his voice a low, warm resonance in the morning chill. He stepped beside her, his shoulder b
