The bathroom door opened softly.
Steam drifted out first, curling into the cooler air of the bedroom, followed by Maya—wrapped in a plush robe, hair damp and loose around her shoulders. Her skin still glowed from the heat of the shower, her nerves soothed but not entirely quiet.
Damien stood near the window, phone pressed to his ear.
“…make sure it stays contained,” he said, voice low, even.
Maya slowed instinctively, pausing just inside the room. She knew that tone now—the one stripped of warmth, honed down to precision. It wasn’t cold. It was controlled.
Their eyes met.
The change in him was immediate. The edge in his expression softened, something private slipping back into place. He ended the call without ceremony, sliding the phone into his pocket as she turned toward the walk-i
