Rafael found Maya in the only place she ever went when she was preparing to lie to herself.

The rooftop was cold, the city spread beneath them like a map of veins and arteries pulsing with light. Wind tugged at Maya’s coat, but she didn’t move. She stood with her back to him, elbows resting on the railing, watching traffic bleed through the streets below.

“You’re getting reckless,” Rafael said.

His voice cut through the night, sharp and controlled—but there was something beneath it. Something frayed.

Maya didn’t turn around.

“You followed me,” she replied calmly. “That means you already know I don’t care.”

Rafael stepped closer, boots scraping against...