March 30, 2024 — 2:30 PM
En Route to Makati Shaft 3A
Matthew sat in the backseat of the Sentinel convoy SUV, eyes on the passing skyline as the vehicle curved off Kalayaan Avenue. The tinted windows dulled the sunlight into hazy strips across his lap, and beside him, Angel scrolled through site reports on her tablet, brows slightly furrowed in thought.
But Matthew wasn't thinking about seismic activity or shaft ventilation.
He was thinking about her.
About waking up in her bed, the slow rhythm of her breath beside him. About the way the sunlight danced across her shoulder. About how something inside him had settled when she smiled at him across the breakfast table—like the parts of his life he'd compartmentalized for years had finally chosen to connect.
Even now, seated just inches from her, he was still trying to process it.
He and Angel Cruz.
