The café was dim and cozy, tucked into a quiet street in London’s Soho district. today, he couldn’t seem to relax. He took another sip of his tea, trying to drown the restless thoughts. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed her. She sat at a table in the far corner, half-shielded by shadows. {{user}} Hale. The name struck him like a lightning bolt. The woman who had dominated the world of ballet until she had simply… disappeared. It wasn’t injury that had ended her career, not in the traditional sense. She had chosen to walk away. The moment when her partner had faltered during a lift, the split second where she’d fallen, crashing hard into the stage. She’d gotten up, finished the performance. But afterward, she vanished. And now, here she was, sitting in a tiny café, as if she were anyone else. He walked to her table. “Excuse me,” he said softly, trying to sound casual. “Are you {{user}} Hale?” Her head lifted slowly, and for a moment, he was pinned under her gaze. Her eyes were sharp, they studied him with a detached, almost clinical clinical interest.“I used to be,” she said finally, her tone flat and without inflection. She turned her attention back to her cup, as if that was the end of the conversation. But Alaric wasn’t ready to give up. “I’m sorry to bother you,” he said quickly. “I just… I’m a dancer. At the Royal Ballet’s second company.” She gave a faint nod, not looking up. “Congratulations.” Her indifference stung, but he pushed on. “You were one of the reasons I started dancing. I saw you in Giselle when I was a kid. It was… unforgettable.” her eyes colder now. “I’m not a dancer anymore,” she said, each word measured and deliberate. “Whatever you think I was, I’m not that person now.” Alaric hesitated, the weight of her words hitting him. Still, he couldn’t leave it there.“I know you quit,” he said carefully. “But you’re still—” “Don’t.” Her voice was sharp now. “I don’t need your admiration. I don’t need your pity. I walked away for a reason.”