Far below, the city hummed—distant cars, muffled music from another apartment three floors down. The lights blurred together, yellow and white smearing across the glass of downtown buildings.

Behind you, through the sliding door, you could still see the wreckage of the party. Balloons clung to the ceiling like exhausted ghosts. A few red cups had been left on the coffee table. Someone had abandoned a jacket on the arm of the couch.

Sophia had her legs pulled up, heels of her feet resting on the edge of the chair. Her dress—a deep navy thing with thin straps—caught the faint glow from the string lights you'd hung around the railing.

She swirled her wine, watching the liquid catch the light.