Kayden stands first.
The movement is slow, deliberate, as if he's testing the weight of his own body, relearning how to navigate space without her. He doesn't rush. Doesn't make a show of it. He simply rises from the booth with the quiet finality of someone who's already gone, even though he's still standing right in front of her.
Andrea remains frozen, her hands pressed flat against the table, fingers splayed as if she's trying to hold onto something solid while the world tilts beneath her. She wants to stand too, wants to match his movement, meet him at eye level, but her legs won't cooperate. Her body has betrayed her, locked her in place to witness her own undoing.
"Kayden—"
"I need time." His voice is steady, but there's a fracture running through it, a hairline crack in otherwise smooth glass. "And distance."
