Beyond it, the city spread in layers of gold, blue, silver, and shadow, a luminous kingdom pretending it had never swallowed anyone whole.
The Italian stone floor caught the city's reflection in long ribbons of light. Amber slid over pale marble and platinum trembled near the base of the windows. Deep metropolitan blue pooled in the corners like the night had spilled itself indoors and decided not to apologise.
Across a pale silver rug, charcoal sectional couches curved in a broad horseshoe, low and deep-cushioned, luxurious enough to make posture feel like a middle-class concern.
Roxanne lay on one of them.
She reclined diagonally, pillows tucked beneath her head, her body arranged in the loose surrender of a woman too exhausted to keep pretending gravity was optional. Her dark honey hair spilled over the cushions in soft disorder.
