The penthouse bedroom carried the pale gray light of early morning without warmth. Curtains hung half-open over the glass walls, allowing the city beyond to bleed into the room in muted shapes and distant movement.
The bed remained mostly untouched on one side, sheets folded back only where Galathea had slept. Cael's side stayed smooth. Undisturbed. The indentation his body used to leave had long since disappeared from the mattress, but the absence still arranged the room around itself.
Galathea Brooks opened her eyes slowly.
For a moment, she didn't move. The ceiling above her stayed still, soft light tracing the edges of the recessed panels overhead. The quiet inside the penthouse felt heavier in the mornings. Less controlled. Like the silence settled deeper before the building fully woke.
She lifted her hand.
The motion came first.
The sensation followed a fraction later.
Tiny. Almost nothing.
But she felt it immediately.
