The rhythmic clatter of the streetcar over the iron rails filled the quiet, dimly lit cabin.
Victoria leaned her head heavily against Alex's shoulder, her eyes half-closed as the amber streetlights outside swept across the windows in long, rhythmic intervals.
The sheer physical toll of the afternoon had finally caught up to her.
After the street musician's final chords had faded, they had spent the remaining twilight laughing and hurrying through the crowded market stalls, darting across brick crosswalks in a breathless rush to catch the outward-bound tram before the evening schedule thinned out.
For a woman accustomed to chauffeured sedans, silent elevators, and tailored armchairs, hours of walking, standing, and dodging pedestrians in boots had taken their toll. Madame Blackwood, who routinely commanded twelve-hour board meetings on sheer willpower, looked thoroughly, delightfully worn out.
