I turned my back on the ocean and faced the glowing windows of the house.
Then I took Elias’s hand, a conscious, deliberate act of connection.
“Come on,” I said, voice firm and clear, still carrying the strategist but softened by something steadier. “I think my mother is about to force someone to dance, and I don’t want to miss it.”
We walked back inside hand in hand, leaving the vast dark freedom of the night at our backs and stepping into the warm, crowded, beautifully uncertain future ahead.