The security monitor flickers with grainy black-and-white footage of the Meridian's lobby, and Kayden watches Andrea walk through the revolving doors like he's watching a film he's seen before but can't quite remember the ending to.
She looks smaller on screen. Diminished somehow, her shoulders curved inward, her movements hesitant as she approaches the reception desk. Even through the poor resolution, he can see she's been crying—the way she touches her face, the careful composure that looks like it might shatter at any moment.
His chest tightens painfully.
She's wearing the blue sweater he bought her three months ago, the one she said made her feel safe. Her hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, and there are coffee stains on her jeans that she probably doesn't even realize are there. She looks like she hasn't slept, like she's been up all night worrying, like she's breaking apart in slow motion.
And he's the one doing this to her.
