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His expression shifts. Barely. But it shifts.

“No,” he says.

I believe him.

I don’t knowwhy, but I do.

Another pause. Another breath caught in the quiet space between words.

Then he says, “I will call on you again.”

And my brain doesn’t even get a vote.

“Yes,” I hear myself say.

Too fast.

Too easy.

Toomuch.

I blink. Straighten. “I mean—sure. Yeah. If you’re?—”

“I am.”

His answer comes like gravity. Irrefutable.

The silence between us turns warmer now. Not heavy. Not awkward.

Just…aware.

I stand. The city seems to shimmer a little differently as I do — like something in its architecture just recalibrated.

We don’t say goodbye.

He just watches as I walk the last half-block alone. Close enough to protect, far enough not to intrude.

When I reach the gate of my complex, I glance back.

He’s already gone.

But the heat in my skin says he was real.

Inside, I kick off my shoes, lean against the polished wall of my entryway, and let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

I tell myself I’m in control.

That this is just a detour. A moment of weakness wrapped in wine and shadowed laughter.

That I’ll wake up tomorrow and get back to reality.

But deep down — beneath the datafeeds and diplomacy and carefully scheduled distractions — I know the truth:

I’m already standing on the edge of something irreversible.

And I’m not sure I want to walk away.

CHAPTER 5