The embers of the patio fire were cold grey ghosts in the dawn light when Adrian awoke. Amelia was still asleep, a manuscript page curled loosely in her hand like a pale leaf. He watched her for a moment, the steady rhythm of her breath a more comforting sound than any engine's purr. The practice is forever, she had said. The words had settled in him overnight, not as a comfort, but as a quiet, daunting responsibility.
He moved through the silent apartment, the events of the previous day the finished manuscript, the fire, the conversation feeling both vivid and distant, like a beautifully lit stage after the actors have left. Today was a Monday. The shop would open at eight. Leo would be there at seven, brewing coffee strong enough to etch steel. Liam and Sofia would arrive, buzzing with the energy of their own private projects. The practice would continue, as inevitable as the sunrise.
