The restaurant never slept the way other places did.
It breathed.
Late afternoon bled into evening with the slow, deliberate confidence of somewhere that understood its own gravity. Thalia's gathered people the way the tide gathered shells—quietly, inevitably. Glass caught the last of the sun. Salt clung to the air. Music moved low and warm beneath conversation, a pulse rather than a sound.
Lara arrived alone.
That, in itself, felt like a small act of rebellion.
She'd walked instead of calling for a car, the ocean to her left, the city to her right. The breeze tugged at her dress and carried the smell of citrus and grilled seafood from down the block. Her heels clicked softly on the pavement, a steady rhythm she could match her breathing to when her thoughts began to race.
Inside, the hostess smiled. "Welcome back."
Lara hesitated—then returned the smile. "Thank you."
The familiarity startled her. Not unpleasantly. Just enough to remind her that she was becoming a person who existed in places, who returned, who was expected.
She followed the hostess toward the terrace.
Jaden was already there, standing near the rail, one hand resting on the back of an empty chair. He wasn't dressed formally—dark shirt, sleeves rolled just enough to expose his forearms—but he carried himself with the quiet authority of someone who belonged to the space without needing to announce it.
He looked up when he felt her presence.
Something unspoken passed between them.
Relief, maybe. Or recognition.
"You walked," he said.
"I needed the air."
He nodded, accepting the answer without comment. "Sit. I'll get you something cold."
She didn't argue. That, too, was new—how easily she let him decide small things without it feeling like surrender.
As she sat, Lara took in the view. The ocean stretched wide and endless, the horizon blurring where sky met water. Boats drifted in the distance like half-remembered dreams. It should have felt calming.
Instead, she felt alert.
Not afraid.
Just… aware.
The server arrived with menus, then left again. Jaden returned moments later with sparkling water and a slice of lemon balanced on the rim.
"You remembered," she said.
"I pay attention," he replied.
That shouldn't have mattered as much as it did.
They talked easily at first—about nothing and everything. About a new supplier he was considering. About a gallery opening she'd stumbled into earlier that week. About the way Sydney changed character after dark, the edges sharpening even as the lights softened.
For a while, Lara forgot to catalogue exits. Forgot to scan faces.
Then someone said her name.
"Lara?"
The voice came from behind her.
Not loud. Not aggressive.
Familiar enough to make her shoulders tense before her mind caught up.
She turned slowly.
A man stood a few steps away, smiling as if they shared a private joke. Late thirties, maybe. Well-dressed in a way that suggested money rather than taste. He looked at her with an ease that implied history.
"Oh," he said, gaze flicking briefly to Jaden before returning to her. "It is you."
Her mouth went dry.
She searched her memory—fast, controlled.
Nothing.
"I'm sorry," she said evenly. "Do I—"
"We met at Rougaille," he interrupted lightly. "Years ago. You were with—" He stopped himself, grin widening. "Never mind. Small world, right?"
The words landed wrong.
Not threatening.
Just… presumptive.
Lara felt it then—the subtle tightening in her chest, the instinctive calculation. How to keep this polite. How to keep it brief. How to exit without offense.
Jaden hadn't spoken.
But she felt the shift beside her. The way his posture changed—not forward, not confrontational, just subtly more present. Like a door quietly closing behind her.
"That was a long time ago," Lara said.
The man laughed. "Sure, but you don't forget someone like you."
There it was.
The assumption.
She felt heat creep up her spine. Not panic. Not fear.
Annoyance.
She didn't owe this man recognition. Or warmth. Or access to her time.
Still, the old reflex stirred—smooth it over, keep the peace.
Before she could respond, Jaden spoke.
"Can I help you?"
His tone was calm. Neutral. Not hostile.
The man turned, surprised. "Oh—I didn't realize you were—"
"With me," Jaden finished, not possessively, but definitively.
It wasn't a claim.
It was a clarification.
Lara noticed the difference immediately.
The man chuckled, hands raised in mock surrender. "Didn't mean to interrupt. I just wanted to say hello."
He looked back at Lara. "Maybe we'll catch up sometime."
She held his gaze.
"No," she said.
The word came out steady. Unapologetic.
Something inside her settled.
The man blinked, thrown off balance. "Right," he muttered, already stepping back. "Enjoy your night."
He disappeared into the crowd.
Lara exhaled slowly.
She hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath.
Jaden didn't look at her right away. He waited, giving her space to feel whatever came next without interpretation.
"You okay?" he asked eventually.
"Yes," she said. And then, after a beat, "I think so."
He nodded, accepting the answer as it was.
They returned to their conversation, but something had shifted. Not broken.
Reinforced.
Lara noticed it in the way she sat back in her chair, shoulders loosening. In the absence of adrenaline where it would once have lingered.
She'd said no.
And the world hadn't ended.
Dinner arrived. Plates artfully arranged, colors vibrant against white porcelain. The food grounded her, the flavors sharp and real. She let herself enjoy it, the simple pleasure of being present.
Halfway through the meal, Jaden spoke quietly.
"You handled that well."
She looked up. "I didn't think. It just—happened."
"That's usually when it's honest," he said.
She considered that.
"I used to over-explain," she admitted. "Apologize for wanting space."
He didn't respond immediately.
When he did, his voice was thoughtful. "You don't owe anyone access to you. Ever."
The words resonated deeper than reassurance.
They stayed with her long after the plates were cleared, after dessert was declined in favor of coffee and the night deepened around them.
When they finally stood to leave, Lara paused near the edge of the terrace, hands resting on the rail.
The ocean was darker now, reflecting moonlight in fractured silver paths. The air was cooler. The city hummed behind her, alive and indifferent.
She felt… steady.
Not invincible.
Just rooted.
Jaden stood beside her, close enough that she could feel his presence without it pressing in.
"Thank you," she said quietly.
"For what?"
"For letting me say no."
He turned to her then, expression unreadable but open. "You didn't need my permission."
"I know," she said. "But you didn't take the moment away from me."
Something like approval flickered in his eyes. Not pride.
Respect.
They walked together toward the exit, unhurried.
Outside, the night wrapped around them—wide, breathing, full of possibility.
Lara knew the past hadn't vanished. It still lived in reflexes and shadows, in dreams that sometimes pulled her under without warning.
But tonight, it hadn't reclaimed her.
Tonight, she had drawn a line.
And the world—unaccustomed as it was to honoring boundaries it didn't understand—had stepped back.
That, she realized, was what healing looked like.
Not the absence of memory.
But the presence of choice.