You stood at the edge of it all, a glass of white wine warming in your hand, watching the crowd ebb and flow like a tide you'd long since stopped trying to swim in.

But tonight, something in his eyes flickered. A tension you couldn't quite name.

Instead, you saw him.

Tall. Broad-shouldered in a way that seemed deliberate, like a man who'd learned to take up space. Dark hair with gray at the temples, a sharp jaw, eyes that were already on you before you'd even finished looking at him.

He wasn't smiling. He was watching you like a man reading a book he already knew the ending to.

And for a moment, the noise of the gala faded to nothing.

You knew that tilt of the head. You knew the way he studied a face a beat too long, like he was memorizing it.

You knew it because you'd once known it in your sleep.