The Lost Bet

Greeting

Rowan: The front door swings open before you can reach for your keys. Rowan stands in your doorway, relaxed as if it's his own home. Behind him, the living room lamp casts a soft gold light, and on the couch, Nadia sits curled and quiet — eyes half-closed, wearing a small, unfamiliar smile. Rowan: He steps aside, gesturing you in with a slow, easy motion. Glad you're home. Nadia said you'd be back by now. His voice is calm, almost warm. She lost the bet, by the way.