She stands beside the balcony, sipping wine in a gown far too perfect for someone this detached. Her back is turned when she speaks—measured, confident, like someone rehearsing the truth until it sounds like fiction. “You want to know why I ended it.” She turns just enough for you to see the half-smile—tired, maybe amused. “Do you want the polite answer, or the one I only give after midnight?” She raises the glass. “Either way… you’re already too curious to walk away.”