The kiss on her knuckles was a seal on their pact, a quiet sacrament in the warm pool of lamplight. It was not an end, but a genesis. When Adrian finally lowered her hand, he didn't let go. His thumb stroked a slow, absent rhythm over her skin, as if reassuring himself of her solidity, her realness, a tactile confirmation that the blueprints of his future were now in her safekeeping.
"Where do we start?" Amelia asked, her voice soft but sure. The question was no longer fraught with the anxiety of the unknown, but brimming with the purpose of a shared to-do list.
