|Serena's POV|
I don't go back to my phone.
I don't text her.
I don't explain.
I let the silence do the talking for once, let the absence speak in a language my mother never bothered to learn—one that doesn't require me to shrink to be heard.
Gryphon doesn't push for conversation. He just stands and gathers the mugs with a quiet grace that shouldn't belong to a man who walks like a threat. I watch his back as he disappears into the kitchen, the way his muscles shift under that worn black shirt. It's ridiculous, how calm he looks—like the weight of me isn't too much. Like there's no danger in letting me stay.
The guilt tries to find its way in. It always does. Slithering under my skin, whispering things about duty, about performance, about being the daughter who shows up, even when it
