The apartment feels constricting. Too small for the weight pressing in from every direction — unspoken truths, protective instincts, and the quiet gravity that seems to follow her.
Lila stands, arms wrapped tightly around herself, as though holding something fragile inside.
"I need a shower before we go," she says. Her voice is steady, but the tension beneath it vibrates in the air. "And clean clothes."
Kai nods once. "Make it quick."
Her gaze flicks toward me. There is hesitation there. Questions she hasn't asked. Trust she doesn't understand.
Then she disappears down the hall.
Moments later, water begins to run.
Silence settles into the living room like a living thing.
I remain standing. Still. Listening.
The faint hiss of the shower drifts through the apartment. Steam and soa
