The rain had softened into a whisper by the time Serena reached the Ministry.
The gas lamps burned low, their golden reflections trembling across puddles that mirrored the city's restless sky. Her carriage had stopped at the rear entrance — discreet, familiar, the one she swore she'd never use again.
She knew exactly why she had come.
Not for Leonard. Not for duty.
Because tomorrow, Christopher Cross would stand trial, and for reasons she could no longer untangle, she couldn't bear the thought of him facing it alone.
She wasn't lying to herself anymore. That part of her had died somewhere between his first kiss and his last dismissal.
But understanding did not mean freedom.
Her heels clicked softly against the marble as she entered the corridor. The clerk on duty recognized her, said nothing, simply bowed and opened the door.
--
Christopher was waiting by the window.
No desk between them this time, no polite distance. Only the space where control and surrender blurred.
