The air in Forest Hill hums with the slow rhythm of twilight, where the sky drapes itself in
bruised purples and honey-gold, the last remnants of daylight stretching lazily over the sprawling terraces of Zade’s mansion. The city feels like a distant dream, its urgency drowned beneath the hush


much it really would. Somewhere in that sea of lights, Zade’s future was unraveling, thread
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The air in Forest Hill hums with the slow rhythm of twilight, where the sky drapes itself in
of the woods, the flicker of candlelight—, the quiet rhythm of rain tapping against the wide glass
watching him. ⸺ Zade is at the piano. It’s something she’s only seen him do a handful of times—



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