Amara moved away from where she stood to the window.
Her arms were crossed, and her gaze was steady on the floor-to-ceiling window, where the city stretched in gold and glass.
Behind her, Travis stood by the couch, one hand buried in his pocket, and the other still resting on the backrest. The conversation with Celeste had gone better than he expected, but the ease of it had faded the second they were alone.
He could feel it, the shift from her. Amara's walls had returned, neat and precise, like invisible glass settling between them again.
"I should be leaving," he said finally, his voice low.
Her head turned slightly. "Yes, you should."
She sounded so effortlessly indifferent.
Travis exhaled a small, resigned breath and nodded once. He reached for his jacket from the couch arm, shaking off invisible creases that didn't exist.
And then, her phone rang.
