Lena.
The house had gone quiet again after Oliver went upstairs to check on Helene and Julian. Lena remained in the living room, staring at the open photo albums without really seeing them. The conversation with Oliver kept replaying in her head — the careful warnings, the tension, the way he had looked at her when he asked about Ava.
She eventually forced herself to stand and head toward her room. Sleep felt impossible, but sitting downstairs alone only made the emptiness worse.
She was halfway down the hallway when Oliver’s door opened.
He stood there in the dim light, still wearing the same clothes from earlier, the sling supporting his injured arm. His eyes found hers immediately. For a second neither of them moved.
“I thought you were going to rest,” Lena said quietly.
“I tried.
