The downpour had started three days ago and hadn't stopped since. Raindrops fell and hissed against the tiled rooftop in an endless whisper, drowning the world below in quiet grief.
Ivan sat beneath the narrow concrete overhang beside the stairwell, shoulders damp, collar clinging to his skin.
City lights shimmered in puddles at his feet, blurred by the drizzle and the exhaustion in his eyes.
He didn't look up when the rooftop door creaked open.
Didn't flinch at the echo of soaked shoes slapping against wet tile.
He already knew.
She was coming.
He hadn't answered any of her texts or calls since that evening — since Juliana pulled that stunt with his jacket.
Irina stumbled forward like a ghost dragging herself through the storm.
Her coat hung off one shoulder, hair plastered to her face. Her fingers trembled, clutching uselessly at her sleeves like they could shield her from the rain.
When she reached him, she didn't speak right away.
