Amara was sitting on the armchair near the balcony, with a shawl over her shoulders, while editing a paragraph she'd rewritten five times already.
The words refused to behave. They trembled somewhere between rage and restraint, just like her.
Every sound felt louder.
The sound of the keycard sliding through the lock startled her. She froze, her pen stopping mid-sentence. Her heart reacted before her mind could.
The door opened with its soft mechanical click. The person stepped in. No, he stepped in.
Elias.
Black coat, loosened tie, same expression that used to undo her. He shut the door behind him and didn't look towards her immediately. The silence between them already recognized the shape of their history.
She said nothing. Neither did he.
He moved toward the couch, the sound of his shoes muffled by the carpet, and set his keys on the table. Then, almost mechanically, he shrugged off his coat, draping it on the backrest.
That was when he saw it.
He found some papers.
