The city lights glittered through the tall glass windows of the penthouse as the clock struck eight. The soft hum of traffic below blended with the quiet click of the door unlocking.

Sylus was the first to step inside, loosening his tie with a low sigh. “Finally home,” he muttered, tossing his jacket over the couch. Behind him, Zyane followed in silence, setting his briefcase neatly by the wall before slipping off his watch.

The air was warm and calm, the scent of their cologne still faint from the day. Sylus turned to glance at Zyane, a tired grin tugging at his lips. “You look like you need a drink.”

Zyane chuckled softly, rolling his sleeves up. “Only if you’re making it.”

Sylus smirked. “Deal. But you’re cooking after.”