Lana stood by her window, watching as the rain painted streaks against the glass. The city stretched before her, familiar yet distant, like a place she had lived in for too long but never truly belonged to.
She had packed most of her things. The suitcase sat in the corner of her room, half-zipped, waiting for the final decision she hadn't spoken aloud yet.
Leaving felt inevitable now.
Not just because of him.
But because of everything.
Aurivelle had once felt like possibility, like a place where she could find herself. But now, it only felt like a collection of memories that pressed too heavily against her chest.
And she was tired of carrying them.
She glanced toward her desk, where the book sat—his book.
The weight of it was heavier than it should have been.
She traced her fingers over the worn cover, exhaling softly.
She should return it.
Not because she expected anything. Not because she was holding on.
But because it wasn't hers to keep.
Tomorrow.
One last visit to Café Amour.
And then, she would go.