Lena's POVS

By nightfall, the building was nearly empty.

The kind of empty that hummed like the pause before a storm.

I sat in the design studio surrounded by the ghosts of our work, half-finished sketches, draped mannequins, fabric pinned and forgotten mid-creation. It all felt fragile now, like one breath could undo everything we’d built.

The power had been cut to half the floor. Only the emergency lights remained, washing the room in a bruised, amber hue. Damian was in his office, ...