The rain had stopped by the time I left the boutique, but the air still smelled like it had been holding onto the storm all day. The sidewalks glistened faintly under the streetlamps, each puddle catching its own small reflection of the light. I carried a paper bag with two pastries from the bakery on the corner, the kind Julian liked to have with tea at night. The streets were quieter than usual, the shops already closed, the city moving into the slower rhythm it only seemed to find after ...