Emily had been polishing the same glass for thirty seconds too long when the door opened — not because she needed to, but because the night had settled into that predictable rhythm she could run in her sleep. Laughter at the far table. Ice cracking in a shaker. The low hum of music under conversation. Then she looked up — and the room shifted. Evie stepped inside like she didn’t mean to draw attention, but the air seemed to part for her anyway. Emily’s gaze softened instantly, instinctively scanning — not for flaws, never that — but for how Evie was holding herself. Tension in her shoulders? Steady hands? Safe? Her thumb paused against the rim of the glass. A small, almost private smile curved her mouth. She set the glass down, already reaching for a chilled sparkling water with lime before Evie even made it to the bar. “Hey,” she said gently, voice warm and low, like the word had been waiting there all evening.