I returned to the Wynn penthouse just after midnight.
The elevator doors opened with a soft hiss. The air inside was cold and dead. It smelled like citrus cleaner, expensive carpet, and nothing else. No people. The suite was too big when it was empty. The lights were dimmed to a warm amber. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, Macau was still awake. Gold and red and white bled across the Cotai Strip. Far below, traffic moved like blood in veins.
I stripped off the tuxedo, the heavy weight of the Julian Croft persona finally lifting from my shoulders. The jacket came off first. The fabric was stiff, tailored to hide tension. Then the shirt. The tie. My skin felt lighter immediately. I rolled my shoulders. My breathing dropped deeper without me forcing it. Julian didn't breathe like that.
