The guest house room feels smaller with each passing second. Chloe's confession hangs between us like a bridge I'm afraid to cross. Her tear-stained face reflects the streetlight filtering through thin curtains.
"I understand," she says quietly, her voice hollow. "I know trust has to be earned."
I pick up the pillow from where I dropped it. "We should get some sleep. Tomorrow will be difficult."
"Noah, wait." She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. "Can I ask you something?"
I pause by the small armchair in the corner. "What?"
"Do you still have feelings for me? Even a little?"
The question hits like a physical blow. I could lie. I should lie. But something about this cramped room, about Nora dying down the street, about the raw honesty in Chloe's voice makes deception impossible.
"Yes," I admit.
Her breath catches. "Then why—"
