I'd been sick, half-conscious, and yet I remembered everything.

The warmth of her fingers brushing mine. The spark that followed.

And then the doorbell - Elena's voice.

The look on Rachael's face when she opened the door. The one that said I know exactly what this looks like.

Now it was Monday morning, and everything felt too quiet.

Too normal.

Rachael was at her desk when I walked in, her hair pulled back neatly, a pen between her fingers, the picture of focus. Except her eyes flicked up ...