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Chapter 8
The morning light spilled through the cracked blinds, casting sharp lines across the worn wooden floor. Nova woke with a weight in her chest, the kind that never fully lifts after nights like the one before. She reached out instinctively—her hand met only empty space, and the ache of Bea's absence settled in again.
Coffee brewed somewhere nearby, its bitter scent a small comfort against the heavy silence. Nova sat up, pulling the blanket tighter around her, her mind replaying every whispered word, every flicker of flame between them.
Outside, the city hummed awake—oblivious to the fragile truce and the wild hope burning quietly in two hearts.
Bea was out there somewhere, and Nova knew the fight wasn't over. Not by a long shot.