Inside the suite, the room fell into silence at the soft knock. Conversation stopped mid-breath. Damien’s gaze flicked toward the door, his tone quiet but certain.
“That must be her.”
Across the room, Dahlia exhaled slowly. She straightened in her seat, posture flawless, though the faint crease in her brow lingered. Her hand reached for the delicate porcelain cup resting on the table. She lifted it with unhurried grace and brought it to her lips, eyes drifting toward the floor-to-ceiling windows as though the horizon could answer the questions still circling her mind—questions about her friend, about the past she could never quite put to rest.
Damien crossed the room and opened the door. Standing there was Maya, hesitant and wide-eyed, nerves thrumming through her frame.
“Hi,” she mana
