The silence in Mansa’s penthouse was no longer just empty; it was charged with the uncomfortable energy of unreciprocated care. Auxin hovered near the kitchen island, her earlier breezy confidence now tinged with a desperate need for validation.

She picked up the bowl of soup, the spoon poised like a peace offering. “Here, let me. You look exhausted.”

Mansa didn’t move from his position by the floor-to-ceiling window, his back to the glittering, indifferent city. The image from the ...