The city woke slowly that morning.

New York’s usual roar was replaced by the gentle hum of early traffic, the rhythmic whoosh of passing tires on damp pavement, and the faint music of street vendors setting up shop. Violet stood barefoot by the balcony door, coffee in hand, wrapped in one of Bryan’s shirts. The skyline stretched endlessly before her, golden light spilling over glass towers, painting the city in a soft promise of peace.

Bryan had gone for an early run. She could still feel his warmth in the sheets, his laughter echoing faintly from the kitchen earlier when he couldn’t find his sneakers. It was strange this quiet...