When I woke, the first thing I noticed wasn't the rain. It was warmth.
Soft, steady, and impossibly close.
Something firm pressed against my cheek — the faint scent of soap, damp cotton, and rain. It took me a moment to realize what it was.
Tyler.
My breath caught. I was still leaning against him, my head resting on his chest, his arm loosely draped behind me. The rhythm beneath my ear was calm but strong — his heartbeat, steady and real.
For a moment, I just stayed there, listening. It was peaceful — too peaceful after the chaos that had been last night. The storm had passed, but the air still felt heavy, as though the world hadn't quite exhaled yet.
I pulled away from Tyler, careful not to wake him, and crossed the room. I tried to move quietly, but of course, he stirred.
His voice, low and rough from sleep, cut softly through the quiet.
"You're awake."
I turned, meeting his eyes briefly before he rubbed a hand over his face and straightened up.
"Yeah," I murmured. "The storm's finally over."
He followed my gaze toward the window, where pale light filtered through clouds. Outside, the city was drowned in stillness — gray, reflective, uncertain.
Then I saw her.
The woman from last night.
Still unconscious, her skin pale, lips dry, the rough bandage around her arm darkened by water and dirt. Bob sat faithfully beside her, head on the couch, letting out a low, uneasy whine.
I crouched next to her. "Hey, it's okay," I whispered softly, mostly to Bob. "We've got her now."
The dog blinked at me once, his eyes glossy, then gave a quiet sound that almost resembled a plea.
Tyler knelt beside me, scanning the woman's arm. "We need to stabilize that before it gets worse," he said.
"There's wood under the sink. From the old shelves."
He nodded, stood, and returned moments later with two pieces of wood and an old towel. We worked together in silence. I tore the fabric into strips while he carefully lifted her arm, setting the makeshift splint in place.
But halfway through, he stopped.
Something in the air shifted — faint, but unmistakable.
His gaze dropped to her wrist, frozen in place.
A silver bracelet, faintly tarnished, caught the weak light from the window. The engraved letters shimmered, though I couldn't read what they said. His thumb brushed over it once — slow, careful — as though the touch itself carried meaning.
"Tyler?" I asked quietly.
He didn't respond.
The silence between us deepened, thick and strange. The way he looked at that bracelet — like he was staring at a ghost sent an odd tightness through my chest.
Without a word, I stood up, forcing my voice steady.
"I'll... make something warm for us to eat."
He didn't look up.
The sound of the pot clattering onto the stove cut through the silence.
I filled the pot with what little water we had left, adding macaroni, a bouillon cube, bits of leftover chicken, and slices of sausage and carrot. The mixture simmered softly, the creamy milk turning everything into something that smelled like comfort.
Soon, a faint, homey scent filled the air with something that reminded me of quiet mornings.
But my mind refused to quiet.
I could still see it. His thumb tracing that bracelet like it meant something. His eyes...not of concern, but recognition.
Last night, when we rescued her, the woman had looked at him like she knew him. And now, he was the one who couldn't look away.
Why? Who was she to him?
And why, now, did he seem not so... distant?
The spoon trembled in my hand. I forced a breath and told myself I was being ridiculous. Maybe it was just exhaustion. Maybe I was overthinking.
Still, something inside me twisted — quiet, but deep. Like the storm outside had moved into my chest instead.
The next three hours crawled by.
The rain had stopped completely, but the world outside was still gray and drowned.
Tyler couldn't stay still.
He paced between the living room and the balcony, checking on the woman every few minutes as if her fever might spike again. He didn't say much, but the tension in him was visible in the way he'd pause mid-step, jaw tightening, eyes drifting again toward her.
He was somewhere else entirely.
Every time he passed her, that same look would flicker over his face — brief, haunted, like he was searching for something only he could see.
It wasn't just worry anymore.
Something about that bracelet bothered him. Haunted him.
And I hated that it bothered me too.
I pretended to stay busy, reheating the soup again, though neither of us had eaten. But from the corner of my eye, I saw him lower himself to check her pulse again, his fingers brushing over her hand in quiet hesitation.
That small movement shouldn't have mattered.
But somehow, it did.
"Tyler," I said softly. "You should sit down."
"I'm fine."
"You've been standing for hours."
He didn't meet my eyes. "I just... can't stop thinking about he--"
He caught himself mid-sentence, his lips parting like he'd said too much. I waited, but he didn't continue.
"We'll get her help soon," I said, my voice quieter than I intended.
The adrenaline that kept me steady through the storm had drained away, leaving only the ache of my knee and something heavier in my chest.
He nodded once, but the distant look didn't fade.
The clock ticked, slow and heavy, as the hours wasted away into stillness.
Then, out of nowhere, our phones lit up.
Both at once — blinding in the dim light.
Notifications poured in, message after message: family, friends, numbers I barely recognized. Worry. Relief. Missed calls.
Tyler reached for his phone immediately, his fingers trembling slightly as he dialed on it. "Come on," he muttered. "Please."
The line buzzed, then died. He tried again.
"Damn it!"
He pressed the phone against his forehead, shoulders slumping. Tequila whimpered softly from where she sat, and he bent down, pulling her close. He buried his face in her damp fur, letting out a rough exhale that sounded like both relief and defeat.
Something inside me ached at the sight — this quiet man who'd faced down a storm, unraveling in the silence that followed.
Without a word, I handed him my phone.
He looked at me. Surprise flickering across his face then nodded. He understood.
He dialed again, his voice low and urgent. "Come on. Come on. Pick up."
And then — a click.
"Hello? Yes, yes. Thank God you answered! There's someone injured here, fourth floor of Building B, near Sta. Elena. I know the flood's still high but we need medical help immediately."
He paced as he talked, his tone controlled but desperate. "Yes. She's alive. Dislocated arm. Fever. We have dogs here but they're safe. Please hurry she's been in pain for too long and we can only do so much from here."
When he hung up, he stayed silent for a moment, the phone still pressed to his ear.
"They're sending a team," he said finally, his voice soft. "Could take an hour, maybe more."
I nodded, feeling some of the tension ease from my chest. "That's good."
But when I looked up, he was still staring at the woman.
Or maybe not at her, but at the faint silver glint around her wrist.
And that look — that quiet, troubled look — told me the storm hadn't really left him yet.
The next hour was slow and heavy.
We took turns checking her pulse, changing the damp towel on her forehead, trying to keep the dogs calm.
When the rescuers' voices finally echoed from the hall, Tyler moved first. Quick, steady and focused. They entered the room, soaked but ready, lifting her gently onto a stretcher. Bob followed, whining, his tail low and ears back.
"Wait, sir," one rescuer said. "You're her relative?"
Tyler froze. The world seemed to still for a heartbeat, and for reasons I couldn't quite name, I held my breath too. It felt like, in that fragile pause, the answers I'd been searching for were finally whispering back to me.
Then he swallowed hard. "No," he said quietly. "Just... a neighbor."
That pause lingered longer than the wind outside.
Bob barked once as they carried her away. The sound faded down the hallway until there was only silence again.
Tyler turned back to me. "I'm going with them. Just until she's safe."
I opened my mouth to say something — I don't even know what — but the words never came.
I nodded instead. "Someone has to stay with the dogs."
He hesitated, like there was something else he wanted to say.
Then softly, "I'll be back, Kz."
The door closed behind him. I wanted to believe him. Really, I did—but his words were too fragile to hold, dissolving under the weight of my doubt.
And just like that, it was quiet again.
Lucky brushed against my leg. Cleo lay curled by the window. Tequila jumped onto the couch beside me, resting her chin on my knee.
"Looks like it's just us again," I whispered.
Outside, the flood glimmered beneath the pale gray morning, and the soup sat untouched just like the words I never found the courage to say.