The hour had grown far beyond midnight, yet the luxury suite remained awake beneath low amber light and the distant pulse of rain striking softly against the glass walls, while Alexander sat near the edge of the long black sofa with one arm resting lazily along the backrest and the other holding a crystal glass between relaxed fingers, though nothing about the stillness surrounding him felt careless, for beneath the calm lingered calculation sharp enough to cut through anyone foolish enough to mistake silence for peace.
The city below glittered beneath rain and neon, restless and alive in ways that no longer interested him, and his gaze remained lowered toward the faint reflection trembling within the whiskey as though searching for answers hidden inside amber rather than memory, while the image of Elara continued to return without permission, quieter than obsession yet far more dangerous because it refused to fade.
