The morning broke soft and golden over the city the kind of morning that didn’t rush to exist, but simply was. The kind of light that touched everything gently, as if afraid to wake the wounds the night left behind.

Violet stood barefoot on the balcony, her hair tousled by the wind, her robe brushing against her knees. Below, Manhattan buzzed with quiet promise cars moving like silver veins through the streets, people hurrying toward lives that kept resetting with every sunrise.

For the first time in years, she didn’t feel like she was chasing life. She was living it.

Bryan stepped out behind her, coffee in hand, the faint...