Kane moved through the penthouse like a ghost haunting familiar spaces.
In the bedroom, movers wrapped the silk sheets in plastic, dismantling the bed frame where they'd spent countless nights tangled together.
The cashmere throws disappeared into boxes. The nightstand where Cyrus kept his favorite books was empty.
Kane's chest tightened.
The training room came next. Equipment stripped from walls, mats rolled tight, mirrors already removed.
The scent of their sweat and struggle lingered faintly, but soon even that would vanish.
He remembered sparring here. Remembered losing the bet that led to silk bindings and breathless surrender.
Now just blank walls and hollow echoes.
The kitchen hurt worst somehow.
Movers packed the expensive knife set Kane had learned to use properly. The French press Cyrus preferred for his morning coffee.
Small domestic pieces of a life they'd barely started building, all disappearing into cardboard boxes.
