The morning after the gala felt strangely weightless, the kind of weightlessness that came after a storm when everything inside had already cracked and all that remained was a numb and suspended quiet. The penthouse carried the faint stillness of a place not yet fully awake, the wide windows holding a pale wash of morning light that softened the hard lines of the city beyond. Willow moved through the space without urgency, her thoughts dulled by exhaustion and by the sense that the worst of the emotional impact had already passed through her.
