Dawn came quietly-- but nothing about it felt gentle.
The glass walls of Cael Alexander's penthouse held the city in a pale, indifferent glow. Light filtered through in thin, washed-out layers, softening the edges of steel and concrete below. Traffic hadn't fully woken yet. The world moved, but slower. Distant and Detached.
Inside, the air felt wrong.
Not cold, not warm.
It was unsettled.
Galathea Brooks stood near the window, arms folded tightly across her chest, watching the horizon as if something might break through it if she stared long enough.
Nothing did, though.
The city remained exactly as it had always been --unbothered and uninterrupted.
Behind her, the quiet shifted.
A soft movement, fabric against fabric.
She didn't turn. She already knew he was awake.
"You didn't sleep," Cael said.
His voice was low, steady-- too steady for someone who had lived through what they had just lived through.
Galathea let out a slow breath. "No." A pause. "You didn't either."
