Alexander POV
The house doesn’t echo the way I expect it to.
I thought silence would be loud. Accusatory. Hollow in a way that rattled the walls.
Instead, it’s orderly.
Efficient.
As if nothing important ever lived here.
I stand in the doorway long after the car disappears, the cold air seeping into the bones of the house, and wait for something—anything—to tell me this is temporary.
Nothing does.
I close the door myself.
That feels significant.
The systems hum back to life automatically, sealing the perimeter, resetting protocols. The house responds to me the way it always has: obedient, unquestioning.
It doesn’t ask where she went.
It doesn’t ask why she was allowed to leave.
It doesn’t ask what I’ve lost.
I move through the rooms slowly, touching nothing. The couch where s
