The world didn't end when the Harts fell.
That was the strangest part.
I'd half-expected something sirens, headlines screaming louder than before, the ground cracking open under the weight of everything that had been buried. Instead, the morning came quietly.
Sunlight slipped through the curtains like it always had. Somewhere, someone laughed.
Somewhere else, coffee burned.
The world kept going.
Cyrus drove with a steadiness that felt intentional, like he was anchoring us both to the road.
The city thinned the farther we went, buildings giving way to trees and houses that didn't look like they were trying to impress anyone.
I watched the scenery pass and tried not to think about how unfamiliar peace felt.
"You can tell me to turn around," I said.
He didn't look at me this time. "You can tell me why you want to."
I opened my mouth, then closed it.
Because I didn't know how to exist in places that didn't demand something from me.
Because kindness still felt like a test.
Because part of me believed I didn't get to step into warmth after leaving so much wreckage behind.
"I don't want to ruin anything," I finally said.
Cyrus sighed, soft but fond. "Sienna… you're not radioactive."
I huffed despite myself. "Debatable."
He smiled. "My mom cried over a burnt lasagna once. You'll be fine."
That helped more than it should have.
When we pulled into the driveway, the house immediately disarmed me. It wasn't large. It wasn't imposing.
It didn't sit behind gates or hedges trimmed into submission. The paint was slightly faded. Wind chimes hung crooked by the door.
It looked… real.
The door opened before Cyrus even knocked.
His mother stood there like she'd been waiting, hands dusted with flour, worry written plainly across her face. Her eyes went straight to me.
"Oh," she breathed. "You must be Sienna."
I barely nodded before she crossed the space between us and pulled me into her arms.
It wasn't a cautious hug. It wasn't polite. It was firm and warm and certain like she'd already decided I belonged there and didn't need my permission.
"You look exhausted," she said gently.
"Come inside."
Something in my chest cracked not loudly, not enough to shatter but enough to let something breathe.
Inside, the air was thick with comfort. Soup simmered on the stove. Bread cooled on the counter.
The walls were lined with photographs Cyrus as a child missing teeth, Cyrus as a teenager scowling at the camera, Cyrus laughing with a boy I immediately recognized as Mateo.
Mateo himself was already sprawled on the couch like a man who'd declared sovereignty.
"There she is," he said, standing. "The woman who made half the city lose sleep."
I raised a brow. "You say that like it's a hobby."
He grinned. "It's an art form."
He hugged me briefly no weight, no expectation. Just presence.
"You okay?" he asked quietly.
I considered the question seriously.
"I think," I said, "I'm not bracing anymore."
"Terrifying," he said solemnly. "Growth."
Lunch was loud.
Not chaotic just alive. Cyrus's mother hovered like a guardian spirit, refilling bowls, nudging plates toward me every time I paused.
"Eat," she insisted. "You can't dismantle systems on an empty stomach."
Mateo choked on his drink. "Iconic."
I laughed. It slipped out before I could stop it, bright and unguarded.
The sound startled me.
I ate more than I had in weeks. Real food.
Food that tasted like it had been made with intention. At one point, Cyrus's mother reached across the table and squeezed my hand.
"You've been very strong," she said. "But strength isn't supposed to be permanent."
The words hit something tender.
"I didn't know how to stop," I admitted.
She smiled at me, eyes kind. "Then you're stopping now."
Later, I stood by the window, watching the street outside. A boy rode past on a bike too big for him. A dog barked at nothing.
A woman watered plants like the world hadn't recently shifted on its axis
I didn't know how much Cyrus told his best friend and Mom but from how I was treated it seemed like a lot.
His Mom scolded him for making her worry about him. And somehow that made me feel bad cause I was the reason he was not able to contact her.
But that guilty feeling was quick to leave me when she told us when we were getting married.
After all she was supposed to be one of the witnesses at hour wedding.
"It's ordinary," I said.
Cyrus came to stand beside me. "Good?"
"Yes," I said. "Very."
For the first time, the quiet didn't feel like a threat. It didn't feel like the pause before something went wrong. It felt like permission.
I didn't feel victorious.
I didn't feel powerful.
I felt… held. Not by one person, but by a space that didn't demand explanation or justification or performance.
When his mother called us back for dessert and Mateo groaned dramatically, I smiled without thinking.
The noise couldn't follow me here.
And for now just for now that was enough.