Morning After

The first light of dawn was a pale, hesitant thing, seeping through the gaps in the blinds and painting Serena’s apartment in shades of gray and silver. The storm had finally retreated, leaving behind only the rhythmic drip of water from the eaves and a profound, almost unnerving silence. Serena stirred on the couch, the blanket still tangled around her legs, and blinked against the dull light.

Adrian was already up.

She hadn’t heard him move. He was a man of silent operations, it seemed, even in the quiet sanctuary of her living room. The aroma of coffee, rich and dark, filled the air, a stark contrast to the lingering scent of rain and damp wool that had permeated the space the night before. He stood by the kitchen counter, a mug in his hand, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the window. He wore the same dark trousers and a crisp, dark gray shirt that seemed to have materialized out of nowhere. Without the coat, he looked less like an agent on duty and more like a man who had simply decided to stay.