The silence between them was suffocating. The kind that thickened the air, clung to skin like sweat, and made even the night outside seem like it was holding its breath.
Mio stood by the tall glass windows, her back facing the room, arms folded tightly against her chest as if shielding herself from memories. The moonlight kissed the edge of her cheek, revealing a pale line of tension running along her jaw.
Claude stood a few paces behind, unmoving, as if one wrong breath would shatter her completely.
"I'm not going to ask you to come back," Claude finally said, voice low. "I know I don't have the right anymore."
Mio didn't respond. Her reflection in the glass looked composed, but he knew her too well. Her silence wasn't peace—it was restraint.
"I just…" Claude took a slow breath. "I want you to understand why I kept building Jean."
Mio's shoulders tensed, but she still didn't face him.
