That night, beneath the vast veil of darkness, Nathan found himself lying on the rooftop of a building in Rome, a city that never truly slept. The murmurs of distant streets, the flicker of torches, and the restless hum of humanity below all seemed to vanish in his awareness, replaced only by the steady rhythm of Medea's breath beside him.
It was not the intimacy of flesh that bound them at that moment, but the quiet intimacy of souls at rest. Nathan lay flat on his back, his white hair catching faint streaks of starlight, while Medea pressed close against him. One of her slender hands rested delicately upon his chest as though she sought to claim not just his body but the steady heartbeat beneath. A soft, almost childlike smile curved her lips, a rare glimpse of peace for a woman whose very name once inspired dread.
