The air inside Elevator Car 4 was heavy, stale, and smelled faintly of floor wax and the designer cologne of an executive who had stayed too late.

We had to go back to Meridian Tower just once.

The new board of directors had requested Lucas’s presence for a ceremonial plaque unveiling in the main lobby, honoring the transition of the tower into a multi-use civic and medical hub.

I wore my favorite blazer, walking through the revolving glass doors where I used to push a mop bucket every single night. The security guards at the front desk straightened up instantly, nodding respectfully as we walked past.

As we stepped into the private elevator bank, Lucas pressed the button for the forty-fifth floor.

The doors of Car 4 slid open.

The elevator was spotless, gleaming with polished brass and mirrored walls. There was no trace of the night that had changed everything—no broken buttons, no emergency gear, no shadow of death.

I stepped inside, feeling a strange shiver run down my spine.

Lucas followed me, turning around to pull me gently into his arms, pressing his back against the elevator wall just as he had once collapsed against it.

“Remember this?” he whispered, his gray eyes filled with a quiet, fierce devotion.

“I remember thinking you were the worst possible patient I could have ever encountered,” I teased, resting my hands against his chest, feeling the solid, unbreakable rhythm beneath his shirt.