"Theo, you seem preoccupied," Natasha spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. She was seated across from him in the dim living room of her family home on Duke Isle, a home that felt both familiar and strange after two years. The scent of salt and old wood hung heavy in the air, a far cry from the antiseptic newness of the home they had left behind.

“I think this was a mistake,” he mumbled, his gaze fixed on the half-empty teacup in his hands.

Natasha leaned forward, her brow furrowed. “What was? Coming here?”

“This,” he said, gesturing vaguely between them. “It’s too soon. It just doesn’t feel right...