The bedroom air tastes of stale breath and unsaid confessions. The heater’s dead, and the weak dawn sliver through the curtains carves Adrian into a charcoal silhouette at the door—one arm braced against the frame as if the whole house must hold him upright.
Olivia lies on her back, arms pinned beneath the covers, hands clasped over her ribs like a hostage. Her eyes are shut, but sleep is a fragile lie: her chest rises in shallow tremors, her jaw clenched so tight it strains the skin, the furrow between her brows a permanent scar. Adrian has memorized every millimeter of her unease over months—the blueprint of her fracture.
He hesitates in the threshold, weight poised between retreat and reckoning. After what feels like an eternity, he says her name—soft, steady, like the hiss before a b
