Miranda's call came the moment the last box cleared the apartment.
"Everything's packed," she said, voice clipped and efficient.
"We're rolling now. Should be ahead of you by about ten minutes."
Izan stood just outside the building, phone pressed to his ear, eyes still fixed on the flat above.
He didn't say anything right away.
The balcony door was half-open.
Curtains swaying slightly in the breeze.
The place wasn't exactly full of memories, but it had been a starting line.
A launchpad.
It had seen his early mornings, his bruised ankles, his post-match silences.
His first nights with Olivia.
Now it was empty.
"Alright," he said into the phone.
"We'll follow."
He hung up, turned, and walked toward the Gemera parked across the lot.
The ashy silver finish gleamed under the late morning light, aggressive but calm.
He reached for the gullwing door and pulled it open.
