She didn't turn around, but her reflection in the glass softened. "It’s quiet up here. The ground feels too loud today."

The neon sign above the motel buzzed in a low, rhythmic hum that matched the thrumming in Elias’s chest. Inside Room 214, the air was thick with the scent of rain and unsaid words.

"The world isn't going anywhere," he murmured, his tone devoid of pressure. "But the coffee’s getting cold, and I think I saw a star break through the clouds over the East Side."

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.