Willow did not unpack immediately.
She stood just inside the apartment for several moments after closing the door, her bag still resting where she had dropped it, her hand lingering on the handle longer than necessary. The air inside felt unmoving, neither stale nor fresh, simply paused. Dust had settled lightly on the surfaces, softening edges without disguising them, and beneath the neutral cleanliness lingered the faint scent of disuse. It was the unmistakable presence of a place that had been left alone for too long, not abandoned, but untouched.
She released a slow breath before she moved, aware of how tightly she had been holding herself together since landing. The apartment did not greet her or resist her presence. It existed exactly as she had left it, suspended in the version of herself that had once occupied it.
