Aria stood on the balcony, letting the wind whip her robe around like she was in some dramatic film.
Only, in this one, the heroine had no idea what she was doing and a very real chance of dying again.
The city stretched out below—quiet, expensive, and unaware that she existed.
It helped.
Sort of.
The brunch had drained her. Smiling for two hours straight should count as cardio.
Her fingers curled tighter around the mug of tea she'd forgotten to drink. It had gone cold. Fitting.
Behind her, she heard the softest sound—barely a shift. She turned, and of course, there he was.
Xander Quinn.
Post-shower, shirt half-buttoned, hair still damp like he wasn't the personification of emotional damage.
"You're cold," he said.
She raised a brow. "What gave it away? The visible shivering?"
He walked forward and draped a coat over her shoulders. One of his.
It smelled like cedar and whatever cologne was stupidly expensive this month.
"Thanks," she said, more shocked than anything.
He lingered beside her. Silent.
Then: "You're different."
She almost laughed. "You said that last night."
"I know." His voice was quiet. "I still mean it."
She turned to face him fully. "And that bothers you?"
A pause. Too long.
"No," he said finally. "Just… unfamiliar."
Aria searched his face for something—regret, nostalgia, confusion. Anything.
But Xander Quinn was a master at hiding what mattered.
She looked away first.
"Well, unfamiliar's fine," she said, soft. "I plan on staying that way."
He left after that.
Didn't slam the door. Didn't say goodnight.
But the coat stayed on her shoulders.
And somehow, it felt heavier than it should.