The night did not feel like an ending.
That was the first thing Aria noticed.
After everything that had fractured, the exposure, the tightening of Cassian's net, the subtle but unmistakable shift from strategy into inevitability. this moment did not carry the weight of closure.
It carried suspension.
The kind that came just before gravity decided what it would claim.
She stood at the edge of the lower terrace, the stone cold beneath her bare feet, the estate stretched behind her like a held breath. Lights burned where they always had, guards stood where they always stood, but the alignment was different now. Not defensive. Not watchful.
Expectant.
Dante had not followed her.
Not yet.
That, too, was new.
By now, she had learned the difference between restraint and hesitation. This was neither. Dante was allowing the moment to belong to her first, an unspoken acknowledgment that the next step was not his to dictate.
Arc Three had stripped him of reflex.
