The morning light filtered in like smoke. It crept across the floor of the loft in long streaks, soft but restless. I stood at the drafting table, fingertips pressed lightly to the edge of the wood, eyes fixed on a bolt of fabric that refused to quiet my mind. Something in the air felt different. Not louder. Not heavier. Just sharpened.

Roman had not responded to the board’s formal notification. Alessia’s office had gone dark overnight, her assistant issuing a vague statement about a ...