Chapter 86
Nora's POV
My breath hitched. The darkness was absolute, pressing in from all sides, and I felt my chest tighten with the beginnings of panic. I couldn't see anything, couldn't orient myself, and the enclosed space suddenly felt suffocating.
A soft click, and then a beam of light cut through the darkness. Julian had pulled out his phone, the flashlight casting a gentle glow that pushed back the shadows. He held it up so it illuminated both of us, his expression calm and reassuring.
"It's okay," he said, pressing the emergency call button. "Just a safety shutdown from the storm. We'll be out of here in a few minutes."
A crackling voice came through the intercom. "This is building security. We're aware of the issue. The system automatically shut down due to the lightning strike, but power should be restored shortly. Please remain calm."
"Understood," Julian said. He glanced at me. "See? Nothing to worry about."
I nodded, but my hands were still shaking. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to steady my breathing.
Julian stepped closer, holding out his phone. "Here. Hold this. Light helps, right?"
I took it gratefully, clutching it like a lifeline. The glow was warm and steady, and it did help—a little.
"Thank you," I whispered.
He leaned against the elevator wall, his posture relaxed, like we were just waiting for a bus instead of trapped in a metal box. "You know," he said after a moment, his tone light, "tonight's been full of firsts for me."
I looked up at him, confused. "Firsts?"
"First time I've been stuck in an elevator," he said, ticking off on his fingers. "First time I've watched someone edit footage." He paused, his gaze holding mine. His voice dropped, becoming quieter, more intimate. "First time... the girl I'm falling for ran straight into my arms."
My face went hot. "I didn't—it wasn't—I was just startled by the thunder."
"I know." His eyes were soft, almost tender. "But I'm still counting it."
I didn't know what to say to that. I looked down at the phone in my hands, watching the light play across my fingers, and felt my heart doing that stupid fluttering thing again.
The silence stretched between us, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Until another rumble of thunder rolled through, though this time it was much quieter.
The memories began pulling at me again.
"I'm terrified of thunderstorms," I said suddenly, the words spilling out before I could stop them. "I mean, I know it's irrational. I know the odds of actually being struck by lightning are astronomically low. But I can't help it."
Julian didn't say anything, just waited.
I swallowed hard. "My dad died on a night like this. Pouring rain, thunder so loud it shook the windows."
My voice cracked. "The car accident took him."
I felt tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. "Ever since then, every time I hear thunder, I feel like I'm going to lose someone. Like the storm is a warning."
I looked up at Julian, and the expression on his face made my chest ache. It wasn't pity—it was understanding. Empathy.
"But tonight," I continued, my voice barely above a whisper, "I wasn't as scared."
Something flickered in his eyes—pain, maybe, or regret. He reached out slowly, giving me time to pull away, and rested his hand on top of my head. Not ruffling my hair or patting me like a child, just... holding. Grounding.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "For your loss. For everything you've had to carry alone."
Before I could respond, the lights flickered back on. The elevator hummed to life, and we started descending again.
I handed his phone back to him, suddenly self-conscious. "Can you... not tell anyone about this?"
"Your secrets are safe with me."
The elevator doors opened onto the dim underground parking garage. We stepped out, and I felt the cool air wash over my overheated skin.
We walked to his car.
"Where's your driver?" I asked, looking around.
"I gave him the night off." Julian smiled. "Some conversations are better had without an audience."
He opened the passenger door for me, and I slid into the seat.
After he got in, he reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a small jewelry box.
"I saw this on my trip," he said, placing it in my hands. "Thought of you."
I opened the box. Inside was a vintage brooch—Art Deco style, with a silver base inlaid with deep blue lapis lazuli and tiny pearls. The geometric lines were clean and elegant, and in the center was a hummingbird in flight, its wings spread wide.
I recognized the style immediately. I'd written about it once, in a piece on museum restoration work—the Art Deco movement of the early 20th century, with its emphasis on symmetry and craftsmanship.
"Julian, this is too much," I said, my voice shaky. "I can't accept this."
"The price doesn't matter," he said as he started the engine. "The antique dealer told me this kind of vintage brooch isn't suitable for young women. Too old-fashioned, he said."
I felt a surge of indignation. "That's ridiculous! Art Deco was the golden age of decorative arts. The geometric aesthetics and symmetrical design influenced industrial design throughout the entire 20th century. Hummingbirds symbolize freedom and courage, and lapis lazuli has been considered a symbol of wisdom since ancient Egypt. This kind of beauty is timeless—there's no such thing as 'outdated'!"
I realized I'd been practically shouting and felt my face heat up. "Sorry. I just... really love this period."
Julian's smile widened. "I knew the girl I like would love this kind of art." He glanced at me as he pulled out of the parking space.
My heart did that stupid flip again. I clutched the jewelry box tightly.