The rain grew heavier.
It drummed against the glass like it was trying to get in, like it understood what it felt like to be locked out of warmth.
Sienna stayed where she was.
She didn't collapse.
Didn't scream. Didn't cry.
She just… unhooked.
Like a machine that had finally been allowed to power down.
Her fingers twitched in Cyrus's hands.
She hadn't let go yet.
That mattered.
He shifted slightly, giving her space without really moving away. A careful balance. Like holding something fragile without tightening your grip too much.
"I hate this part," she whispered.
He tilted his head. "Which part?"
"The quiet." A shaky breath. "The part where everything catches up."
The city outside kept breathing. Sirens. Engines. Life. People didn't stop just because someone's world had cracked open on the 20th floor of a glass tower.
"I shouldn't feel like this," she said, more to herself than him. "I came here ready to fight. I came here ready to burn things down."
She huffed a soft, humorless laugh.
"And now I just feel… small."
He tightened his fingers around hers — just enough to be real.
"You feel human," he said quietly.
That word hit.
Human.
She walked past his shoulder toward the window and leaned her forehead against the cold glass.
"I don't know how to make it stop," she admitted. "The noise in my head. The what-ifs. The memories I never asked to keep."
Cyrus stepped behind her. Didn't touch. But close.
Present.
Her reflection showed them both.
Two war-tired people standing in a room that had tried to swallow her whole.
"I keep thinking…" Her voice dropped lower. "What if I'd been braver back then?"
He answered instantly. "You survived. That's not cowardice."
Her breath shook.
"What if I'd fought sooner? What if I hadn't run?"
He leaned slightly closer.
"You didn't run," he said. "You escaped."
Her eyes closed.
That reframed everything.
"You make things sound less ugly than they feel," she murmured.
"Someone has to," he answered. "You've been doing the ugly work alone for too long."
Her shoulders began to tremble.
She tried to stop it.
She failed.
Her hand lifted, pressing over her mouth like she could physically hold the sound back.
She didn't cry loudly. She broke quietly. That was worse.
Cyrus stepped closer.
Slow. Steady.
"Come here," he said.
Not as a command.
As an offer.
She turned.
For a second, she looked like she might refuse.
Then she stepped forward.
She didn't slam into him.
She didn't cling.
She rested her forehead on his chest like she'd finally found the place her gravity pointed to.
He hesitated only a heartbeat before he lifted his arms.
Didn't trap. Didn't cage. Just held.
Like the world wasn't allowed to touch her for a minute.
Her fingers fisted into the fabric of his shirt.
Not delicate.
Not polite.
Real.
"I'm so tired," she whispered.
He rested his chin lightly against her hair.
"I know."
She shuddered as she breathed.
And then, against his chest, she said the thing she'd never let herself admit out loud.
"I don't want to do this alone anymore."
His jaw tightened.
Not with pain.
With something like quiet fury at every person who made her feel like she had to.
"You won't," he answered. "Not while I'm breathing."
Her breath hitched. His arms became realer. Warmer. Not trapping.
Just there.
Outside, the storm spilled its anger across the sky.
Inside, two people who had been pretending for too long finally stopped pretending.
And for the first time…
she didn't fall apart.
She fell into someone.