Celeste watched him, and she noticed it.
His grip on his fork loosened immediately, like he was slapped by a random past memory. The slow, careful way he dropped his cutlery onto the plate made her swallow.
She watched him take in a quiet inhale. It was long and slow. And it was the first time she saw him take one this human and tired.
His expression dropped to that of someone who was reaching back into a memory they'd buried too deep to handle casually.
Celeste blinked. "Do you… do you know her?"
Dominic didn't answer right away.
His eyes remained fixed on the woman by the elevator, who was now stepping forward, her heels making muted contact with the rooftop floor.
She wasn't overdressed.
She didn't wear gown or glamor, like she normally did. She just wore a black sheath dress, long sleeves, clinging to her body.
A coat rested over one shoulder, and her hair — deep red, vibrant even in the dim light — was pulled into a loose twist that looked unintentional, but wasn't.
