The next morning arrived with a heavy sense of foreboding, the sunlight piercing through the grimy windows of Max's apartment like an unwelcome guest. Max sat hunched over the kitchen table, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep and the relentless churn of his thoughts. He had been replaying the events at the docks, the confrontation with Marconi, and the near escape that left them all rattled but alive.
Vivian emerged from the bathroom, her face freshly washed but still marked by the night's stress. She poured herself a cup of coffee, her eyes meeting Max's with a silent question. Max nodded slightly, reassuring her that Elena had made it through the night as well.
