Chapter 138

• That night, after the last package went out, I lingered in the boutique alone. The air still held the faint smell of steamed wool and paper tape from the day’s work. I turned off the overhead lights and left only the small lamp by the front counter on. It cast a circle of warm light over the register and the old brass scissors we kept there — a pair Simone had once sharpened herself.
• I sat down behind the counter, listening to the faint sounds of the street outside. The city never went fully quiet, but at this hour the noise softened into a low hum, like a sewing machine running in the distance.
• Part of me wanted to call Julian, but I knew if I did, he would say exactly what he had been saying for days — that it was better not to engage, better to let the whispers burn out on their own. He wasn’t wrong. But silence didn’t always feel like strength. Sometimes it just felt like holding your breath.