Dominic had always loved the silence before a storm. In China, the silence wasn't still. China was always filled with the heavy breath of ambition hanging in the air.
He stood before the glass wall of his hotel suite on the sixty-third floor, the entire city glittering beneath him like a restless sea. He didn't move, neither did he blink. He just kept his hands in his pockets as if his stillness alone could anchor the world.
He had to reluctanly let Celeste go about an hour ago, when he saw how exhusted she was. He wished he was beside her, to help her wash up.
Grigor, who came in few minutes ago, and who was always a step behind yet somehow always ahead, was pouring himself a drink on the side counter.
His presence filled the room without needing words. If Dominic was iron, Grigor was smoke. Fluid, and slipping into spaces without asking permission.
"You didn't tell her the full reason we came here," Grigor finally said, his voice low.
