The soft click of the door signaled the close of another long day. Ella pulled her sweatshirt tighter around herself, the exhaustion of the shift pressing down on her shoulders like invisible weights. Despite the whispers, the cautious glances, and the lingering awkwardness of her coworkers, she had survived it. Just barely.
Nicholas had stayed the entire time, his presence steady, quiet, unwavering. He hadn't hovered, hadn't embarrassed her by making a scene, but he had been there—sitting at the farthest table, nursing a coffee that went cold hours ago. Every time her hands had trembled or the sharp sting of gossip had bitten her ears, all she had to do was glance up, and there he was. Watching. Waiting. Protecting.
Now, the streets were quiet under the weight of the evening. The hush after a storm.
