The sky burned with streaks of gold and pink, the cityscape below their balcony fading into shadow as the sun dipped lower. Frida leaned on the railing, a glass of champagne in hand. Beside her, Laz reclined in a deck chair, his feet propped on the edge, his posture deceptively relaxed.
"We did it," she repeated, her voice tinged with disbelief. "She's actually...gone."
Laz glanced at her, his ever-present smirk softening into something warmer. "Don't sound so surprised. You had this in you all along."
Frida chuckled, swirling the champagne in her glass. "Did I? I feel like I've been reacting, surviving. Not...winning."
"You faced down Evelyn Michaels and walked away intact," Laz said. "That's not just surviving, Frida. That's victory."
She gave him a sidelong glance. "And yet, I can't shake the feeling this isn't over."
---
A Lingering Threat
