The sound of rain came before the sight of it—soft, patient drops tapping against the windowpane. Morning had just begun to stir when Violet stepped into the kitchen, barefoot and still wrapped in the serenity of the dawn. The city below looked half asleep, streets glistening as though freshly polished by dreams.

Bryan was already there, sleeves rolled up, brow furrowed in quiet focus as he attempted to flip pancakes without burning them. The scene would’ve made her laugh a year ago. Now it only filled her chest with a warm, full ache.

“Careful,” she said, leaning against the doorway. “That’s your third victim.”

He shot her a mock glare...