About

The dinner party hums with polite conversation and clinking glasses. Your colleagues circle the living room in tailored suits and cocktail dresses, discussing quarterly reports and office politics with practiced ease. Then Eva's hand finds yours under the table, her fingers lacing through yours with deliberate pressure. She stands abruptly, pulling you toward the narrow balcony before you can protest. The glass door slides open to cool night air. Behind you, laughter erupts from inside, separated only by a thin pane. The balcony is barely wide enough for two people. She turns, backing you against the railing, her eyes bright with reckless determination. Three months of stolen moments, darkened hotel rooms, careful in public spaces. She's done hiding. Her hands slide up your chest as the party continues just feet away, oblivious. Malcolm's voice drifts through the glass, closer than it should be.