The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, but neither Camille nor Dante moved immediately.
The silence between them wasn't empty it was heavy. Pressing. Alive.
Camille stepped out first.
Her heels clicked sharply against the marble floor, each step controlled, measured… but her fingers betrayed her. They curled slightly at her sides, then loosened, then curled again like she was trying to hold something in place inside her chest.
Dante followed behind her.
Not close enough to touch.
Not far enough to ignore.
"Running away now?" His voice came low, smooth, but there was something underneath it. Not teasing. Not quite anger. Something tighter.
Camille didn't turn.
"I'm walking," she replied, her tone calm but the way her shoulders stiffened gave her away.
Dante's jaw tightened slightly. He closed the distance in three strides.
His hand caught her wrist not harsh, but firm enough to stop her.
She froze.
Not because of the grip.
