Friday evening rolled in like a tired sigh. The sky was soft and peachy, and the bookstore café had finally stopped smelling like burnt espresso and overworked printers. Mira wiped her hands on her apron, glanced at the clock, and finally let herself exhale.
It had been a week.
A long, strange, twisty week.
Elisa had been... quieter. Not in a miserable, withdrawn way, but more like someone carrying too many thoughts in too small a head. She smiled, but her eyes didn't always follow.
Mira noticed. Mira always noticed.
So instead of going home to binge bad romance flicks and eat an entire chocolate cake by herself, which had been the original Friday night plan, she grabbed her keys, told the barista to lock up, and made a detour.
Elisa's apartment lights were on when she arrived. Mira knocked twice, then three times for good measure, shifting on her feet with the eager energy of someone dying to snoop and spoil.
The door creaked open, and Mira blinked.
