THE SILENCE that followed the elevator's closing chime was not empty; it was heavy, pressurized by the unspoken revelations of the last hour.
Mailah stood in the center of the observatory for a moment longer, the taste and the ghost of a kiss that shouldn't have been possible—lingering on her lips. The glass dome above her reflected a version of herself she barely recognized: a woman in a midnight-blue dress that shimmered like a bruised sky, her eyes wide with a mix of terror and a hope so fragile it felt like glass.
When she finally descended back to the suite, the atmosphere was a jarring shift from the starlit intimacy of the dome.
Carson was in the middle of the living area, surrounded by several open, designer suitcases. He was currently trying to decide if a pair of silver-toed boots belonged in the "Essentials" bag or the "Tactical" bag.
