The door had closed minutes ago, yet the air still felt in transition, as if the walls were adjusting to the shift from conversation to closeness. The city lights slipped through the curtains in muted streaks, silver brushing across the floor and climbing halfway up the walls. Outside, traffic hummed in distant waves. Inside, every sound seemed softened, drawn inward.

Violet stood near the edge of the bed, her fingers lightly resting on the carved wood of the headboard. She could feel her own pulse beneath her skin, steady but charged. Not frantic. Not uncertain. Just aware.

Bryan remained a few steps away, watching her with the same deliberate focus...