The days passed, quiet and steady. Lira didn't return.
Rowen didn't expect her to. That wasn't how he operated. People passed through. Some stayed longer than others, but they all passed. Still, the silence felt different. Not louder—just more aware of itself.
He repaired a console, sorted through some outdated parts, and reorganized a drawer he hadn't touched in months. The work grounded him. But in the stillness between tasks, her question lingered.
It wasn't a memory. It was a presence.
On the fourth day, the door opened close to sunset.
She stepped in without a phone, without a purpose. Just a soft smile.
"I was nearby," she said, "and felt like walking. Hope I'm not interrupting."
Rowen looked up from his workbench. "No."
She moved toward the counter and leaned her elbows on it. Her hair was loose today. She looked more relaxed than usual, but something in her expression felt... tentative.
They talked. Lightly. About nothing.
She mentioned a small lakeside cafe she'd discovered. He said he hadn't seen it. She looked surprised.
"You've lived here this long and never gone?"
"I don't go out much," he replied.
She smiled. "I figured. Still—maybe I'll show you sometime."
Rowen didn't answer.
She waited a second longer than necessary, then pushed gently away from the counter.
"Anyway," she said, brushing invisible dust from her sleeve. "I'll let you get back to it."
The bell above the door chimed, and the sound echoed longer than it should have.
Rowen didn't sit back down. He stood by the counter, staring at the closed door.
He wasn't unsettled. But something had moved again.
The silence hadn't left him.
It was simply watching him now, waiting.