Night had settled hard over the city.
From the penthouse balcony, the skyline stretched out in jagged silhouettes of glass and steel, every tower studded with cold lights. Wind moved lazily between the buildings, carrying the distant noise of traffic far below.
Galathea Brooks leaned against the balcony railing, gripping the cool metal so tightly her fingers ached.
To her, city felt too large and too indifferent tonight.
Behind her, the sliding door opened.
She didn't turn, she knew who crossed threshold,
Footsteps crossed the polished floor of the balcony.
Cael Alexander stopped a few feet away.
"You left the infirmary quickly," he said.
Galathea stared at the lights below.
"Yes. I didn't want to be there." She answered
"Do you want to talk about it?" Cael watched her.
"No." The answer came instantly and too sharp from Galathea.
The wind tugged at the loose strands of her hair.
Inside her chest, something hot and restless refused to settle.
