The morning light was pale when I woke, the kind that hinted the season had shifted in ways that were more than just a change in the calendar. I pulled back the curtain and saw the sky resting heavy with gray, the edges soft as if painted in watercolor. For weeks the air had whispered of winter, but that morning it had fully arrived. The roofs across the street glistened faintly, as if waiting to be crowned.

Julian was still sleeping, his arm curled loosely around me. For a moment I did not ...