The rain hadn't stopped by morning.
It clung to the city like a second skin, coating the streets in a dull metallic sheen and turning the skyline into a blurred watercolor of steel and smoke. Inside Dwayne's apartment, the air smelled faintly of coffee and charged silence.
Courtney woke slowly.
For a few seconds she didn't remember where she was — only that something heavy sat in her chest. Then the memories slid back into place one by one: the headlines, the boardroom tension, Sean's stare, the whispers, the pressure building like a storm about to break.
Her eyes opened fully.
Dwayne wasn't beside her.
She sat up, blanket slipping from her shoulders, and immediately heard the faint sound of typing. Not hurried. Not frantic. Precise. Rhythmic. Controlled.
She followed the sound.
