The front door creaked when she pushed it open, the sound sharp in the heavy silence. Inside, the air felt stale—like the house itself hadn't taken a real breath in years.
She slipped off her shoes quietly, careful, as if she might wake something sleeping. The dim light from the hallway stretched long shadows across the walls.
"...You're late."
The voice came from the kitchen—low, flat, edged with something sharp.
Her stomach tightened.
She froze, the straps of her bag digging into her palms. For a heartbeat, she thought about bolting, about following Kai's fading footsteps down the street. But her legs wouldn't move.
"Didn't you hear me?" The voice was louder this time, heavy with irritation.
She swallowed hard, forcing air into her lungs. Her lips parted, but the words caught in her throat.
And then—footsteps. Slow. Approaching.
The last thing she saw before the kitchen door swung open was her reflection in the darkened window—wide eyes, mask cracking.
Kai
The streets were quieter now, washed in the orange glow of a sinking sun. Kai shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, his steps steady but his thoughts restless.
He could still see her face—the way she tried to smile but couldn't quite pull it off. He'd seen that look before, too many times. In the mirror.
He hated it.
"Damn it…" he muttered under his breath, raking a hand through his hair.
He wanted to tell her everything. How he knew what it was like to dread going home, how the silence of certain walls was louder than any scream. But the words stuck, the memories clawing too close.
Not yet, he told himself. She doesn't need my mess on top of hers.
Still, the image of her standing at that gray gate wouldn't leave him. The way she hesitated, like walking inside was a punishment. The way her voice cracked when she said "yeah."
He clenched his fists, nails biting into his palms.
"I won't let her break," he whispered to the empty street.
But deep down, he wasn't sure if he was making a promise to her—
or to himself.