Lucas finds me on the balcony that evening, long after the city lights have emerged and the penthouse has settled into its nighttime quiet.
I don't hear him approach—he moves like a ghost when he wants to, a skill honed by six years of being invisible in corners—but I feel him before I see him. The shift in the air, the familiar warmth of his presence, the way my body has learned to recognize him even when my mind is elsewhere. He doesn't speak immediately. He just stands beside me at the railing, close enough that our shoulders almost touch, and looks out at the glittering skyline.
