AN: apologies for the late chapter, here's one more.
Harley
The room is dimly lit, the golden hues of the setting sun spilling through the slightly parted curtains, casting elongated shadows against the walls. The wooden planks lining the interior are repainted a soft ivory, the fresh coat giving the space a warm, inviting glow. A plush area rug covers part of the hardwood floor, its edges slightly frayed, a testament to years of use. The walls hold a few framed photographs, some newer, some older, mixing moments of joy and nostalgia. A sleek bookshelf stands in one corner, filled with an eclectic mix of novels, business journals, and a few well-loved classics with creased spines.
Mandy's voice crackles over the phone resting on the window ledge, the device precariously balanced between an old hardcover book and a ceramic coaster.
"When your enemy is prepared, withdraw—do not engage? What's that?" Mandy asks, her voice tinged with skepticism.
