The early morning, Paris was soft and unhurried. Sunlight slipped through the curtains of the small apartment that they rented for a week, landing across a table scattered with maps, receipts, and half-finished glasses of wine from the night before. Outside, the city was already awake — the smell of bread baking drifted up from the bakery downstairs, mingling with the faint sound of traffic on the cobblestones.

Sam moved lazily through the room, still shaking off the last of his sleep. The atmosphere was relaxed. There was no set agenda, no rush to catch a train or stand in line. Paris stretched wide open before them, offering both iconic sights and quiet corners.

The decision of where to go didn’t need to be made right away. They could sit for another hour, listening to the sounds of the city filtering through the window. Or they could step outside now and let the morning carry them wherever it wanted. Either way, the day already felt like it belonged to them.