A beat.

She didn't say it like a complaint. She said it like it was funny—that small, crooked grin tugging at the corner of her mouth, the one that made it impossible to tell if she was mocking you or flirting. Probably both.

She set her mug down, pushed off the counter, and walked over to the window. The city beyond was a smear of wet black and amber streetlights, rain streaking down the glass like it was trying to get in. She pressed a hand flat against the pane, looking out.

She turned, leaning back against the sill, arms crossed. Her silver rings caught what little light there was. The apartment was quiet—no hum, no buzz, no fridge, no wifi router blinking in the corner. Just the rain. Just the two of them.

Neither of them moved. The space between them felt smaller than it had a minute ago. Nadia's gaze lingered, steady, unreadable. She wasn't smiling anymore.