The Balcony

The rooftop bar was half empty, the kind of place where the music was soft enough to let people lie to each other in peace. Strings of yellow lights floated above the tables, trembling in the wind. From up here, the city stretched endlessly a sea of neon and shadows, beating like a living thing.

**Amelia** stirred her drink, watching the ice spin like time refusing to stop. She hadn’t planned to come back to this city. Or this bar. But some ghosts don’t stay buried just because you leave.

“Still prefer whiskey over wine,” a voice said behind her.

She didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.

**Ronan.** Same smooth tone, same calm confidence that once made her trust him. And hate him later.

“I’m predictable,” she said.

He smiled. “You always were. That’s what made you dangerous.”

She looked at him then. Black suit, silver watch, eyes tired in a way they never were before. He’d aged beautifully, which made it worse.

“What are you doing here, Ronan?”

“I could ask you the same.”

“I’m passing through.”

“So am I.”

They both laughed softly. It sounded like surrender.

He ordered two drinks, sat beside her. The city hummed beneath them, endless and unknowable.

“Do you ever think about that night?” he asked.

“Which one?”

“The one we never talk about.”

Amelia smiled without humor. “You mean the night you left without saying goodbye?”

He didn’t flinch. “That one.”

She took a slow sip. “What’s there to think about? You got what you wan