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Summary
“This is going to end in bloodshed, isn’t it, Angel?”
“We weren’t meant to last,” Angel said after a long silence, voice small but firm, “We never were.”
After the Vees' alliance crumbles, the Tower is stripped of Vox's static. In the silence, Valentino reverts to what he knows best: the studio, the stretch, and the suffocating intimacy of the past—the terrifying tenderness of a director obsessed with his final muse.
Angel finds that muscle memory is the hardest habit to break, and that stepping back into the center of Valentino’s frame feels dangerously like coming home.