The balcony stood apart from the noise of the gala, yet it did not escape its weight, for the music still lingered faintly through the glass doors behind them, softened into something distant, something almost unreal, while the night air pressed cool against skin that burned with tension, with memory, with everything neither woman could bury any longer.
Elara stepped forward first, her heels quiet against the stone as the doors closed behind her, cutting the noise, cutting the eyes, leaving only the two of them beneath the dim glow of the city lights, her posture still composed though her chest rose sharper now, betraying the effort it took to hold that control.
"You always liked quiet places," Elara said softly, her voice low, though steady, though the words carried more than observation, carried memory, carried something fragile that had not yet died.
Sarah did not turn immediately.
