All things considered, I decide cancel the rest of the day.
Jacey offers to stay. She means well.
But I need quiet.
And walls.
And… him.
Voltar follows me home in silence.
No jokes. No casual sarcasm. Just that heavy-footed presence behind me like a shadow with a heartbeat.
I drop my bag by the door. Toes out of my shoes. The moment I step onto my rug, the silence hits me like a wall. Everything feels louder when I’m trying not to break.
The hiss of the kettle. The buzz of the fridge. The tick of the wall clock.
I curl up on the couch.
Tug my throw blanket over my legs and squeeze a pillow so tightly it ought to explode into stuffing.
Voltar scans the apartment without a word.
Then he moves.
Not far.
Just across the room.
He doesn’t ask. Doesn’t explain.
He just plants himself in front of the window—broad back to me, arms crossed, stance wide.
Like a wall.
A silent, living wall of muscle, vigilance, and very obvious rage.
For the first time since I opened that damn box, I exhale.
I don’t ask him to sit.
I don’t ask him to move.
Because I don’t want him to.
I tryto sleep on the couch.
Fail.
Try again.
Still fail.
At some point, I just stop pretending and stare at the ceiling, watching faint shadows from streetlamps dance across the paint.
He hasn’t moved.
Not once.
