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Rayan hadn’t slept.The apartment was dark except for the flicker of the stove light and the soft hum of the fridge—domestic sounds that used to mean comfort. Now they just echoed. Winter’s mug was still on the counter, half-full with matcha she never finished. Her hoodie was draped over the back of the chair, sleeves stretched from where she used to tug them over her hands when she was nervous.He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, hoodie sleeves pushed up like he was ready to fight something. But there was nothing left to fight...
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