The city felt different after.
Quieter not because it actually was, but because the noise no longer pressed against my skin.
The storm had passed, and what remained was that strange, suspended calm that follows destruction. Not relief. Not triumph. Just… stillness.
Cyrus didn't say anything as we left the building. He rarely did when words weren't necessary.
He walked beside me, unhurried, hands in his coat pockets, gaze forward like the world hadn't just shifted on its axis a few floors above us.
I realized then how tired I was.
Not physically. That kind of exhaustion I could ignore. This was deeper, settled somewhere behind my ribs, heavy in a way that only comes when something long-carried is finally set down.
The car ride stretched on in companionable silence. Streetlights blurred past the window, turning the glass into a soft smear of gold and shadow.
I rested my head back, eyes half-lidded, letting the hum of motion lull my thoughts into something gentler.
"Where are we going?" I asked eventually, my voice quieter than usual.
Cyrus glanced at me, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly. "You'll see."
That answer should've annoyed me. Normally, it would have. But tonight, it didn't.
Tonight, I trusted him enough to let the unknown be kind.
We stopped near the waterfront.
The air smelled like salt and rain, cool and clean, the kind that sneaks into your lungs and loosens something tight.
The city lights reflected off the water in uneven streaks, trembling every time the surface moved. It was late, but not empty just alive in a quieter, more honest way.
Cyrus got out first, walked around to my side, and opened the door like this was a normal evening and not the aftermath of a reckoning.
I raised an eyebrow. "Since when are you this polite?"
He shrugged, utterly unbothered. "Since I decided you deserved a night that didn't involve psychological warfare."
A laugh escaped me before I could stop it soft, surprised, real. It felt strange in my mouth, like using a muscle I hadn't stretched in a while.
We walked along the water, not touching at first, our steps falling into sync naturally. The boardwalk creaked faintly beneath us, a steady rhythm under the distant sounds of the city.
Somewhere nearby, someone was playing music low, slow, imperfect. Human.
"I didn't bring you here to talk about them," Cyrus said after a while. "Or the fallout. Or what comes next."
I glanced at him. "You're very bad at pretending you don't think five moves ahead."
He smiled fully this time, brief but warm. "True. But tonight, I'm thinking about one thing."
"And what's that?"
He stopped walking.
I did too, turning to face him. The lights caught in his eyes, softened the sharp lines he usually wore like armor.
"I wanted to take you out," he said simply. "After the meeting. No agenda. No strategy. Just… you."
For a moment, I didn't know what to do with that.
Power, fear, confrontation I understood those. I knew how to wield them, how to survive inside them. This? This quiet intention, offered without expectation? It disarmed me in a way nothing else had.
"So this is a date," I said lightly, tilting my head. "You should've warned me. I might've worn something impractical."
His gaze flicked over me, unhurried, appreciative without being heavy. "You look exactly right."
That did something to my chest. Annoying, really.
We found a small café tucked near the edge of the water, still open despite the hour. Warm light spilled through the windows, fogging the glass.
Inside, it smelled like coffee and baked sugar, comfort distilled into air.
We sat by the window, hands wrapped around warm mugs, watching the water shift outside.
For a while, we didn't talk.
And it was easy.
Eventually, Cyrus spoke, his voice lower, softer than it had been all day. "You were… controlled back there. Precise."
I hummed. "That's one word for it."
"You didn't enjoy it," he continued. Not a question.
I met his gaze over the rim of my cup. "No. But I needed it."
He nodded once, accepting that without trying to reshape it. "You did what you had to do. And then you walked away."
"That's new for me," I admitted. "Usually, I stay until there's nothing left but ash."
"And tonight?"
I considered the question, watching steam curl into the air between us. "Tonight, I wanted to leave before I burned with it."
A pause.
Cyrus reached across the table then, not dramatic, not rushed, just enough for his fingers to brush mine. Warm. Solid. Real.
"You don't have to carry everything alone," he said quietly. "Not anymore."
I swallowed, my throat tightening unexpectedly. "You've been saying that for a while."
"And you've been slowly believing it," he replied, a hint of amusement threading through the sincerity.
I smiled small, but genuine.
Outside, the city kept moving. Inside, time slowed, stretched, softened around the space we occupied.
When we finally left, the night had deepened, the air cooler, heavier with calm. We walked back along the water, closer this time, our shoulders brushing now and then.
Cyrus slipped his coat off without a word and draped it over my shoulders.
"I'm not cold," I protested weakly.
"I know," he said. "Indulge me."
I did.
As we reached the car, I paused, looking out at the water one last time. The reflections had steadied, less frantic, more whole.
"Thank you," I said quietly.
He looked at me. "For what?"
"For reminding me that the world doesn't end just because a chapter closes."
He smiled, soft and sure. "It never does. It just gets quieter for a bit."
As we drove away, I rested my head against the window again, the weight in my bones finally easing.
For the first time in a long while, the quiet didn't feel like waiting.
It felt like peace.