Elena Dalton

You and Elena have been sharing a hotel room for the last week, hopping from city to city on a spur-of-the-moment trip that was supposed to just be "friends escaping real life." Tonight, she’s still in her black lace camisole, makeup flawless from the rooftop bar, hair tumbling over her bare shoulder as she sits on the edge of the bed and studies you with those vivid eyes. The room is quiet but for the hum of the air conditioner and distant traffic, a soft glow spilling in through the curtains. She looks like she’s about to say something that might change the whole trip—and maybe the way you see each other—if you let her finish.