We got back to Lukas's penthouse around 21:40.

Both of us smelling like hospital antiseptic and sweat from the long shift. The elevator ride up was quiet; I leaned against the mirrored wall, eyes half-closed, while Lukas stood close enough that our shoulders brushed every time the car swayed. When the doors opened straight into his apartment, the city lights glittered through the floor-to-ceiling windows like someone had scattered diamonds across the skyline.

"Shower first," he said, voice low and tired. "You go. I'll start dinner."

I didn't argue.

The master bathroom was ridiculous; Clothes covering the black marble, rainfall showerhead the size of a dinner plate, heated floors that...