Prologue
Ellis Wren wasn’t supposed to be there that day.
He hated art fairs, too crowded, too bright, too many things pretending to be meaningful. But then, he saw her.
Bent over a table of porcelain vases, her fingers streaked with glaze, a single strand of hair tucked behind her ear.
And, for the briefest moment, the world stopped. The sound of chattering voices faded. The bustle of the crowd disappeared. All he could see was her, quiet, focused, lost in the delicate shaping of something that would soon be beautiful.
He had no idea that he was about to let someone into his life who would one day break it apart—beautifully.
Now, months later, Ellis sits in his apartment, the rain sliding down the window, slow and constant. The air smells faintly of dust and books. There’s a mug, her mug on the windowsill, chipped at the handle, with dried clay smudged at the bottom. She’d left it behind.
He hasn’t moved it.
She won’t walk through the door and pick it up again.
The apartment is quiet, quieter than it’s ever been, even when she was angry, even when she was gone. This is different. This is after.
He doesn’t say her name anymore. He thinks it though. Every time he sees a piece of pottery, hears soft footsteps in the hall, or dreams in sepia.
Natasha Marlowe.
The quiet after her is the loudest thing he’s ever known.
