Ethan didn't realize how tight his chest had been until he made it upstairs.
The moment his bedroom door clicked shut, the quiet hit differently.
Not peaceful.
Just loud in its own way.
He stood there for a second, hand still on the handle, like he was waiting for someone to follow.
No footsteps came.
Only the faint hush of the estate settling around him.
He exhaled, long and shaky, and dragged a hand through his hair.
"Jesus Christ," he murmured to no one.
The room looked the same as always—expensive, neat, untouched.
But Ethan felt like someone had shifted the floor beneath his life.
He crossed to the window, staring out at the garden below.
The swing.
The sunlight.
Gabriel's hands steady behind him.
The memory tugged at something soft inside his ribs.
He swallowed hard, then turned away before he could get lost in it.
His phone was on the bedside table.
For a moment, he only stared at it.
Then, like instinct, his thumb moved.
One name.
Charlie.
