A small, tired smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. She took a step away from the window, the spell of the heights finally breaking. She walked toward him, her movements fluid and slow, mirroring the tempo of the music.

She finally turned, her eyes reflecting the dim, moody light of the room. There was a vulnerability there that she only showed him—a transparency that felt both beautiful and fragile. She looked at his outstretched hand, then back at the sprawling, chaotic city below. "What if I'm not ready for the noise?" she asked.

"Okay," she whispered into the fabric of his jacket. "I'm coming down."

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching the dust motes dance in the amber glow of the bedside lamp. Across the room, she was a silhouette against the window, watching the city lights blur into streaks of gold and red. They had been in this state of suspended animation for hours—halfway between staying and leaving.

When she finally reached him, she didn't take his hand. Instead, she leaned her forehead against his shoulder, letting out a breath she seemed to have been holding since yesterday.

"Then we'll stay quiet," Elias promised. "We’ll just sit on the porch and watch the cars go by until the sun comes up. No talking. Just breathing."