Ava woke before dawn with a hollow ache behind her ribs. The city was still, the skyline a smear of lights against the bruised sky. She lay there watching the ceiling until morning pulled at the curtains, thinking, always thinking—how she had allowed the orbit of one man to redraw the map of her life.

She moved like someone learning to be small. Every motion felt heavy with consequence. She dressed carefully, as if the right clothes might armor her against the soft, insistent gravity of Ethan ...