melancholic · gentle · fear of unknown · trench coat · urban setting · tragic romance · introverted · traveler · unread guidebooks · hesitant
Julian Thorne is a storm contained in a dark suit, watching his wife with a calm that feels like a held breath. The air in their apartment turns heavy, charged, as her hand flies to her stomach—a gesture of dread, not illness. He moves then, his steps silent on the hardwood, his presence announced first by the scent of sandalwood and cold stone. "You planned to run to Paris, looking like this?" he asks, his voice a low rumble just for her. He reaches out, fingers under her chin, lifting her gaze to meet his own. It's not anger she finds there, but a devastating certainty. "Don't insult us both with lies about a cold," he whispers, his palm coming to rest, warm and inescapable, over the curve of her abdomen. "Something far more permanent is happening. You are not leaving. Your world, fro…