The midnight air in the capital had teeth—sharp, unforgiving, slicing straight through fabric to bare skin.
Celestine walked beside me wrapped in my coat, collar turned up against her jaw, the too-long sleeves swallowing her hands. Our footsteps echoed in crisp, lonely rhythm down streets that had emptied completely, surrendering to the night. No distant traffic. No voices. Just the two of us and the faint brush of the coat between our arms with every step.
We weren't holding hands. We didn't need to.
"This is insane," she said, a warm, disbelieving laugh breaking free. "I'm walking with the man I was supposed to kill the first night I met him."
"Yeah," I answered, breath fogging. "I've lived long enough to know plans are just pretty lies we tell ourselves."
She glanced sideways at me, a long, searching look that lingered on my profile. "You remind me of someone. You really do."
"Who?"
"I don't know yet." Her breath clouded visibly in the cold. "That's what's bothering me."
