Night settled slowly, like it wasn't in a hurry to claim anything.
The house grew quieter in layers Mateo finally leaving the couch after negotiating leftovers like a hostage situation, Cyrus's mom rinsing dishes with the radio humming softly in the background, the world dimming itself without asking permission.
I sat on the edge of the guest bed, fingers laced together, staring at nothing in particular.
Peace still felt… temporary. Like a guest who might change their mind.
There was a knock. Soft. Careful.
"Hey," Cyrus said, leaning against the doorframe. "You still awake?"
I nodded. "Yeah."
He came in slowly, like he was afraid of startling me, and sat beside me not touching, not crowding. Just there.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
It was strange how silence could feel different depending on who shared it with you. This one didn't press. It didn't accuse. It waited.
"You were quiet after dessert," he said gently.
"I didn't want to ruin it."
He turned toward me fully then. "Sienna… you don't ruin spaces. You reveal whether they were real to begin with."
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
"I don't know how to exist without momentum," I admitted. "Everything I've done everything I am was built around moving forward. Digging. Exposing. Correcting."
"And now?"
"And now the noise is gone," I said. "And I don't know what's underneath it."
Cyrus didn't interrupt. He never did when it mattered.
"I thought justice would feel like relief," I continued. "Or victory. Or closure. But mostly it just feels… quiet."
He smiled faintly. "Quiet isn't emptiness."
I looked at him. "You're very wise for someone who still forgets where he puts his keys."
"Wisdom is selective," he said solemnly.
"Like Mateo's maturity."
I laughed softly, then sobered again.
"I'm scared," I said.
He nodded. "I know."
"I don't want to become someone who only exists in response to harm."
That got his full attention.
"You won't," he said. "Because you noticed the difference."
I swallowed. "What if I don't know who I am without the fight?"
He reached for my hand then, slow and deliberate, giving me time to pull away.
I didn't.
"Then you learn," he said. "The same way you learned everything else. Patiently.
Honestly. Without pretending you already have the answers."
I squeezed his fingers, grounding myself in the warmth of him.
There was another knock louder this time, less subtle.
Mateo stuck his head in, holding two mugs. "Before anyone accuses me of emotional avoidance, I brought tea."
"Is it actually tea?" Cyrus asked.
Mateo hesitated. "Define 'actually."
I smiled.
He handed me a mug and leaned against the dresser, suddenly less flippant than usual.
"You did something big," he said. "And the world is loud about it. But if you ever wake up and feel like you don't know what you're supposed to do next..."
"I will," I said quietly.
"Then you don't have to fill the silence immediately," he finished. "Some people only find themselves after the noise stops."
I met his gaze, surprised by the seriousness there.
"Thank you," I said.
He shrugged. "Don't tell anyone. I have a reputation."
Later, after he left and the house settled fully into sleep, I lay staring at the ceiling, listening to unfamiliar sounds pipes shifting, wind brushing the windows, life continuing without demand.
Cyrus lay beside me, not asleep yet.
"Can I ask you something?" I said.
"Always."
"Why didn't you ever push me to stop?"
He turned his head toward me. "Because stopping wasn't what you needed. You needed to finish."
"And now?"
"And now," he said softly, "you get to choose what comes next."
The idea felt terrifying.
It also felt like freedom.
I turned onto my side, resting my forehead briefly against his shoulder. He didn't move. Didn't comment. Just let me be there.
For the first time, the future didn't feel like a threat.
It felt unwritten.
And somehow miraculously I wasn't afraid to pick up the pen.