Chapter 33: No Definitions
The penthouse bedroom carried the kind of quiet that only arrived after midnight.
Soft amber light spilled from a lamp near the reading chair. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city stretched across the darkness in scattered ribbons of headlights and illuminated towers. Rain earlier that evening had left the glass faintly streaked, turning the skyline into something softer and less certain.
Galathea Brooks stood barefoot near the window.
A thin-strapped nightdress skimmed her frame while a loose kimono-style coverup hung from her shoulders. One side had slipped low enough to expose the fading scar along her shoulder.
The scar was what held her attention as she stared into the faint reflection of her against the full-length glass.
Not the city.
Not the now cold coffee sitting untouched in her hand.
The scar.
It looked lighter tonight.
Less angry.
Less raw.
