Jay did not sleep.
He lay on his back for most of the night, staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet settle into something heavier than silence. His body was still recovering, his throat sore, his chest tight in a way that reminded him too much of what had happened at the restaurant, but none of that was what kept him awake. It was the memory of Roman standing in that doorway, the look in his eyes, the way he had spoken without raising his voice, without waiting for an answer, and the finality of the door closing behind him. That moment stayed with him longer than anything else.
By the time morning light slipped through the blinds, Jay had already given up on sleep. He pushed himself upright slowly, pausing for a second as his body adjusted. The weakness was still there, but it no longer mattered. Staying still would not fix anything. Waiting would not change what had already been decided.
