She froze for only a moment.
Her fingers hovered above her phone screen. Her eyes didn't widen. She didn't blink. But he saw the shift in her shoulders—minute, almost imperceptible.
Recognition.
Surprise. Control.
Lyra met his gaze steadily across the quiet space between them, her wine glass catching the low light like a signal flare. She didn't look startled, only… stiller. Like a lake that sensed a stone before it broke the surface.
Edgar didn't move either.
He didn't lift his glass.
Didn't nod.
Didn't speak.
He just looked at her.
And she looked back.
Seconds passed.
No one else noticed.
Around them, soft conversation buzzed, forks clinked, a waiter uncorked a bottle of wine for another table. But inside the moment—their moment—there was no sound at all.
He didn't know what she was thinking.
But he knew what he felt.
The ache of almost. The echo of before.
Then—she lowered her eyes.
Not shy. Not dismissive.
Just… done.
She turned her attention back to her screen. Adjusted her posture. Took a slow sip of wine.
He exhaled, barely audible.
Then picked up his glass and drank.
The spell broke—but only at the surface.
Beneath it, something had begun to stir.
Something that neither of them—yet—had the courage to name.
The rain had thinned to mist by the time Edgar stepped out of the restaurant.
He didn't speak to the driver. He didn't check his phone. He just sat in the back seat and let the silence wrap around him like a familiar coat.
He didn't know why it lingered.
He hadn't spoken to her. Hadn't even approached.
And yet—
Her eyes had stayed with him.
Still did.
Like they'd followed him into the night, tucked into the folds of his coat, weightless and permanent.
The car pulled up to his building. The doorman greeted him softly, took his umbrella. The elevator opened without a sound.
When he stepped into the penthouse, the silence welcomed him like a loyal thing. Cool, spare, dim.
But tonight… it didn't feel hollow.
It felt like retreat.
He loosened his tie. Poured himself a glass of water.
Walked to the massive window.
And let the city breathe beneath him.
Across the city, Lyra entered her apartment and closed the door behind her with care.
She didn't flick on the lights right away.
The hallway glow from the city washed across her walls in soft lines. She stepped out of her shoes. Set her bag on the entry table. Her keys made a familiar metallic sound as they landed in the bowl beside the door.
She stood for a moment, just listening.
Not for danger.
Just for… herself.
For her heartbeat. Her breath. The silence between.
She wasn't anxious.
Wasn't unsettled.
But something in her chest felt shifted. Like a book nudged half an inch off the shelf—barely noticeable, but changed.
She had seen him tonight. Not in a meeting. Not through glass.
Just… there.
And somehow, that mattered.
She didn't know why.
She walked slowly to the window, glass in hand, the wine now barely touched. Looked out over the same city he saw.
And for a moment—
Though they were miles apart, alone, in silence—
They both felt less alone.
Not whole.
Not healed.
But…
Like they had reached their own corner of the sky.
Their nest.
And neither of them wanted to name it.
Not yet.