Rain's POV:
The morning drags on longer than it should.
The note he left still sits heavy in my chest, a sour aftertaste I can't seem to wash away.
It's ridiculous how quickly I've started adjusting to him being here again.
How easily my body slips into old habits—listening for his footsteps, expecting him in the next room, wanting him there.
Hoping for it.
Six years, and apparently I didn't learn a thing.
I tell myself it's only because he's hurt.
Because I'm wired this way—trained to notice injuries, to hover, to care.
That's all this is. Muscle memory. Nothing more.
The lie doesn't sit very well.
I shower quickly, letting the heat ground me, then pull on my blue scrubs and tie my hair back with more force than necessary.
I need to get out of this room.
Out of my head.
As I grab my bag, another thought wedges itself in—Danny needs to get me a phone. Safe or not, this forced isolation isn't sustainable. I can't exist cut off from everyone like this.
