Zane was the one who opened the door, the movement careful and unhurried, as though sound itself might disturb something delicate that had followed them all the way from the hospital. The apartment greeted them with familiar stillness, the kind that had once felt temporary and borrowed, a space to pass through rather than inhabit. Now it felt different. Not warmer. Not brighter. Simply heavier, as if responsibility itself had settled into the walls and was waiting to see what they would do next.
Zane reached into the back seat and lifted the car seat with both hands, his grip steady and deliberate, the way he handled anything he understood mattered more than strength. Willow stepped aside to give him space, then followed closely behind, one hand hovering instinctively near Zana, not touching, not interfering, but ready, as though the world might reach for her if Willow did not stay close enough.
