The world had a strange way of pretending that nothing ever happened.

By the next morning, New York pulsed like it always did relentless, loud, beautiful in its broken rhythm. The sky stretched in a soft gradient of pale gold, clouds drifting lazily over skyscrapers, and the streets below buzzed with movement as though yesterday’s chaos had dissolved into memory.

But Violet knew better.

Peace was never absence it was suspension. A breath between storms.

She stood by the apartment window, her fingers tracing the faint fog her breath left on the glass. The sunlight caught her reflection, and for a moment, she barely recognized herself not the girl who...