The storm came in wild, hammering bursts, the sort that erases everything familiar. The city disappeared in sheets of water and flashes of white. Serena car rocked beneath it; the wheels strained on the uneven cobblestones. When she stepped down, the wind cut through her cloak and caught her breath. The smell of wet stone and smoke filled the air.
Christopher's townhouse rose out of the darkness, windows bright as if it had been expecting her. The butler hurried forward, umbrella in hand, but she waved him away. The rain was too fierce, too alive. She wanted to feel it—every cold drop on her skin, every tremor of her pulse as she walked to the door.
He opened it before she could knock. For a moment they only looked at each other: she, drenched and shivering; he, composed yet strangely still.
"Lady Serena," he said, voice low, touched with something that wasn't surprise. "You'll catch your death."
"Then let it be by your doorstep."
