POV: Iris Hartwell
Glass and chrome. That was Iris's first impression as the elevator doors opened directly into the space, no hallway, no buffer between the outside world and the inside of Julian's life. The forty-second floor was all angles and light, windows on three sides looking down at a city that seemed irrelevant from this height.
"Welcome," Julian said, though he didn't move to embrace her or show warmth. He stood with her single suitcase as though it had materialized by itself. "Let me show you your space."
Your space. Not our space. Not home. Iris noticed this phrasing and filed it alongside all the other small clarifications that mapped the architecture of their arrangement.
