Summer came early that year, thick and sticky and sweet, sunlight washing LUNE's new glass windows until the whole city felt like it was melting. The old winter rooftop felt a thousand years away, replaced by sleek desks and bright studios, the music of ambition humming in the floors, every corner heavy with possibility and the heat of bodies pushing toward something more.
Yura sat in the lounge, a low white couch bathed in gold morning light, her belly stretched round and full beneath the soft cotton of her dress. She ran her hand along the gentle rise, feeling the pulse and twist of new life inside her. Each kick, each flutter, brought a little shock of joy and fear. The doctor said everything was stable now—the danger had passed, but still, the world felt heavier, slower, the gravity of her pregnancy making her body move with a queen's grace and a private ache she couldn't put into words.
