The sun over Manhattan rose pale and tired, like it, too, had survived something. Morning spilled through the penthouse windows, catching on half dried rain across the glass, turning every droplet into a shimmer of gold. For once, the city didn’t roar it hummed, distant and low, as though it was giving them space to breathe.

Violet hadn’t moved from the balcony since dawn. A blanket hung loosely over her shoulders, her hair pulled up in a messy knot that did little to hide the exhaustion in her face. The air was cool and damp. Below, the streets were waking up horns, footsteps, the faint sound of a coffee cart...