Val stood at the tall window with one shoulder braced against the frame, watching the sky lighten from black to dull steel. Five in the morning and the wounds refused to let him sleep. Every shift of weight pulled at the stitches across his shoulder and ribs, a sharp reminder of the alley and the blade that had gone in too deep. He kept his breathing shallow, eyes fixed on the courtyard below where mist still clung to the gravel paths.
Behind him, Rose moved through the room without a word. She had already been awake when he opened his eyes hours earlier, and the silence between them had stretched on since. Neither of them had spoken. Sharing this space felt strange and precarious, like two people who had already promised each other violence now forced to fold clothes in the same drawer.
