"You should go, Adam. It's getting late," Sofia said quietly, trying to sound composed.
To her surprise, he actually stood. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice low. "I didn't mean to disturb you."
"It's okay," she replied, keeping her gaze on the teacup in her hands. The porcelain had gone cold long ago, but she couldn't bring herself to move.
Adam lingered for a second longer, his hand resting on the back of the chair as though he wanted to say more—but didn't trust himself to. His chest rose and fell with a slow, careful breath.
"Good night, Sof," he whispered finally, her name soft like a prayer on his lips.
And then he turned toward the door.
Sofia watched his shadow stretch across the floor until it disappeared into the night. The door closed with a faint click, but the sound echoed in her chest like something breaking quietly inside her.
