"But I still like it more when you're here."
Ethan didn't say anything back.
He didn't have to.
He just stayed there, like always—quiet, steady, real in a way that didn't need to prove itself.
Evelyn leaned against him a little more, just enough to feel the weight of his presence. She didn't push for a response.
She didn't need one. Sometimes silence said more than words ever could. And in that moment, it was enough.
No pressure. No expectations.
Just quiet. And comfort.
—
Meanwhile, Everly stared up at the sky through a break in the trees, blinking at the soft blue light that filtered down through the leaves.
She was lying on her back on a stone bench, moss creeping up the edges, and a few lazy leaves drifting overhead.
Her hands were folded behind her head. Her legs crossed at the ankle. It wasn't a bad way to wait.
