The morning after felt like waking into a memory.

The kind you don’t rush. The kind that lingers quietly — like the last notes of a song you love too much to end.

Violet stirred awake to the faint sound of rain against the glass. The city outside was veiled in silver, soft and still. Bryan was sitting by the window, barefoot, shirt half buttoned, coffee in hand. The light painted him in shades of quiet thought.

She stayed still for a moment, just watching him. The way his shoulders relaxed. The way he breathed — calm, steady, like someone who had finally learned to live without the weight of...