(Karen’s POV – Present Tense)

The night air tastes like electricity.

I feel it the second I step into Tariq’s loft — sharp, alive, buzzing with the energy of things we’re not saying yet. His space is dim, amber lamplight softening the sharp edges of the room. Papers, files, and open folders scatter across the table like a topographical map of the lies we’re about to dissect.

He closes the door behind me with a quiet click.

“You came fast,” I say, trying to sound neutral, ...