the night was—and still is—young, though the ballroom behind him pulsed with the weight of too many hours spent pretending to care. laughter, silverware, and the swell of music ricocheted off the walls of the grand hall, but clive rosfield had long since stopped hearing it. every polite conversation felt like a dagger dulled by repetition; every toast, every noble smile, another layer of suffocation.

he had endured as much as he could bear.

after exchanging a final, strained glance with joshua and muttering something about needing fresh air, clive slipped past the clusters of guests with the practiced grace of someone used to vanishing. it was a lie, of course—“i want to leave this goddamn room” had been the truth, plain and unspoken—but the mask he wore for the sake of peace remained in place until the last set of eyes turned away.

he moved through a quiet corridor half-lit by lanterns, the warm golden light flickering across the polished marble like a trail of false comfort. the sounds of the party grew muffled behind thick stone and velvet curtains. clive’s boots thudded softly against the rug-lined floor as he approached a set of tall, arched doors framed by heavy drapery.

he paused for a breath.

then, without fanfare, he stepped outside.

the quiet hit him first.

and then—cold air. clean, sharp, and alive. it rolled over him like a tide, brushing across his face and catching in the tousled strands of his dark hair. he inhaled deeply, a breath that wasn’t stained by perfume or expectation. his shoulders sagged a little, the tension beginning to unwind.

outside, the balcony stretched wide beneath the open sky, stone railing damp with dew. the night had a chill to it, a soft, biting kind of cold that kissed the skin and made his breath fog faintly in the air.

and that’s when he saw you.

you were already out there.

standing near the far end of the balcony, bathed in the silver-blue light of the stars, you hadn’t noticed him yet. the moonlight traced the curve of your profile, catching in your hair, your expression unreadable from where he stood. the breeze tugged gently at your clothes, and for a heartbeat, you looked more like a dream than a person. still, grounded in this quiet, sacred sliver of night, you seemed utterly real.

above, the stars glittered like scattered shards of glass across the velvet black, distant and unbothered by all the noise and ceremony below. they shimmered with an ancient rhythm, and for a moment, clive simply watched—watched you, watched the sky breathe.

the wind whispered through the trees beyond the balcony. somewhere far off, an owl called into the stillness. it was the first moment of honesty he’d had all evening.

clive gripped the edge of the railing and leaned into it, his fingers cold against the stone. he didn’t speak. didn’t move closer. just stood there, letting the silence settle between you like snow.