The apartment did not resist her.
Zane noticed that before anything else, the way the space seemed to receive his mother without tightening, without shifting defensively the way some places did when they sensed a presence capable of reorganizing them. She stepped inside and paused just long enough to take in the light, the quiet order, the faint scent of soap and clean fabric, and then continued forward as though confirming something she had already known rather than discovering anything new.
She set her bag down near the counter, slipped off her shoes without being asked, and rolled up the sleeves of her sweater as she crossed to the sink. She washed her hands thoroughly, not with urgency but with care, drying them slowly, deliberately. She did not ask where anything was. She did not comment. She oriented herself through observation alone.
Willow stood a few steps back, watching with the stillness of someone who had learned when not to interrupt a moment arranging itself.
