The apartment had gradually grown quieter after the chaos of the past few months.
For weeks the space had felt almost abandoned, as if the walls themselves had grown used to the silence that followed whenever Silas left early in the morning and returned only when the night had deepened. Ayla had learned to move through the rooms carefully, quietly, her presence soft and almost invisible, like a guest afraid of overstaying.
But recently things had begun to change.
Not drastically. Not dramatically.
Just small shifts that only someone like Ayla could notice.
Silas no longer left before sunrise every day. Sometimes she could hear movement in the kitchen when she woke up, the quiet sound of a mug placed on the counter or the refrigerator door opening. Occasionally he would remain long enough for breakfast.
And sometimes, though rarely, he returned early enough for dinner.
