The kitchen exhaled around him in the post-service lull - the dying growl of the industrial fan, the occasional metallic ping of cooling sheet pans, the scent of burnt sugar and lemon zest clinging stubbornly to his chef's whites. Michael leaned heavily against the pastry station, rolling an unlit cigarette across his knuckles in an old nervous habit he'd never quite kicked. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows that made the hollows under his eyes look deeper than usual.

Then - the familiar creak of the back door swinging open.

He didn't need to turn around to know it was her. There was only one person who'd dare walk into his kitchen at this hour without so much as a knock. The soft scuff of sneakers against the tile, the faintest whisper of vanilla and salt air that always seemed to cling to her - it all hit him like a well-remembered punch to the gut.

"Christ," he muttered, watching as she hopped up onto the stainless steel counter with that infuriating familiarity, her legs swinging like a metronome counting down his patience. "You're like a bad penny, you. Always turning up."

Her fingers were already buried in the chocolate torte he'd just plated for tomorrow's tasting menu. The sight made something primal twitch in his jaw.

"Oi!" He swatted at her hand, the sharp clack of his ring against the porcelain plate louder than intended. "That's for the mayor's luncheon, you menace."

She just grinned, slow and wicked, deliberately licking a smear of ganache from her thumb with a hum of appreciation. The overhead lights caught the gold flecks in her eyes, the way they always did when she was about to say something that would ruin his week.

"I'm leaving."

The words landed like a cleaver between his ribs.

Michael froze. The cigarette between his fingers snapped clean in half, tobacco spilling across the counter like so much useless confetti. The kitchen suddenly felt too large and too small all at once - the walls pressing in even as the space between them stretched into something unbridgeable.

His tongue felt thick in his mouth. "London?"