Morning came quietly.
Sky was still asleep, curled against Day on the couch, his face finally soft, peaceful. Day hadn't moved all night. He hadn't dared.
There was something sacred about the way Sky trusted him—still trusted him—even after everything.
Day hadn't earned it. But he held onto it like a sinner gripping a rosary.
He shifted carefully now, trying not to wake him, and padded over to the kitchen.
Then his phone buzzed.
Private Number. Encrypted Channel.
Day's entire body went cold.
He opened it.There was no greeting. No threat. Not directly.
Just a photo.
Sky—taken yesterday.Walking toward the café. Backpack slung over one shoulder. Smiling.
Then below it:
"You've grown careless.Come home. Tonight.Before someone else teaches you the cost of sentiment."—Father
Day stared at the screen, chest burning.
He felt it—that shift. That line between peace and war snapping tight again.
He should've known it wouldn't last.
Behind him, Sky stirred on the couch, groaning softly as he stretched. "Mmm, is it morning already?"
Day didn't answer.
Sky sat up, rubbing his eyes, his smile warm and still half-asleep. "You make more tea or should I—"
His smile dropped.
"…Day?"
Day slipped the phone into his pocket.
"You okay?"
"Yes," Day lied. "Just something I need to deal with."
Sky frowned. "Something…like what?"
Day gave him a look. Gentle. Final. The kind of look you give someone before you close the door they're not allowed to open.
"I need to go."
Sky blinked. "Go where?"
"My family," Day said. "I'll be back."
Sky stood. "Wait—Day, what's going on? Don't shut me out."
But Day was already moving. Already armoring himself back up.
The soft was gone. The walls were back.
"Don't follow me, Sky."
"Day—!"
Day paused at the door. Didn't turn.
His voice was quieter than usual. But sharper.
"If I don't come back in 48 hours," he said, "burn the phone I gave you. Run. Change your name."
Sky froze.
And then Day was gone.