Luna didn't speak to Ethan the next morning.
Not because she hated him.
That would have been easier.
Hate was simple. Clean. It gave pain a direction.
What she felt now was far worse—because it was mixed with understanding.
And understanding made anger weaker.
That frustrated her.
She sat alone in the kitchen, untouched coffee growing cold in front of her. Sleep hadn't come. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the same thing—
Rain.
Her father's face.
And herself, making a choice she could barely remember but somehow still felt guilty for.
Survival had a cruel way of feeling like betrayal.
She heard footsteps behind her.
She already knew it was Ethan.
He stopped near the doorway, keeping enough distance to respect the silence between them.
"You should eat something," he said quietly.
Luna stared at the coffee.
"You always do that."
He frowned slightly. "Do what?"
"Act normal when everything is falling apart."
A pause.
Then Ethan replied, "Because if I stop, everything really does fall apart."
That answer made her finally look at him.
And for the first time, she noticed how tired he looked.
Not physically.
Something deeper.
Like someone who had been holding too much for too long.
She looked away again.
"…Did you love him?"
The question surprised even her.
Ethan stayed still.
"Your father?"
She nodded once.
Because there had been something in the way he spoke last night.
Not just duty.
Not just regret.
Something personal.
Ethan exhaled slowly, leaning one hand against the doorway.
"He was the first person who ever treated me like I was more than my last name."
Silence.
That wasn't the answer she expected.
"He hated my family," Ethan said with the faintest trace of humor. "Thought Carter Holdings swallowed people and called it success."
Luna almost smiled.
Almost.
"But he respected honesty," Ethan continued. "And he never let me hide behind power."
His gaze dropped slightly.
"He was the closest thing I had to family."
That hit quietly.
Because suddenly—
this wasn't just her loss.
It was his too.
Luna's voice softened.
"And you still let me think you didn't care."
Ethan's jaw tightened.
"Because caring didn't change what happened."
"No," she said. "But it would've changed how alone I felt."
That one line stayed between them.
Because it was true.
And truth had become impossible to escape.
Ethan stepped closer this time, slower.
"I know."
No excuses.
No defense.
Just that.
And somehow, that honesty hurt more.
Luna stood up, restless.
"I need to go somewhere."
His expression sharpened immediately.
"Where?"
She looked at him directly.
"To my father's old house."
Silence.
That place.
Untouched for years.
Locked away like everything else.
Ethan straightened. "Luna—"
"If I'm going to keep remembering pieces, I'd rather face something real."
Her voice was steady now.
"I need to see where he lived. Maybe there's something there. Something everyone missed."
Ethan hesitated.
Because he had been there.
After the accident.
After everything ended.
And he knew what that house still held.
"…I'll take you."
She almost argued.
Then stopped.
Because for once—
she didn't want to go alone.
The house stood at the edge of the city, quiet and forgotten.
It wasn't grand. No dramatic gates, no polished walls.
Just a simple home that looked like memory itself—familiar, faded, and heavy with silence.
Luna stood outside the car for a long moment without moving.
"This is it?"
Ethan nodded.
"He liked quiet places."
She swallowed.
Because suddenly, the idea of going inside felt harder than facing any secret.
This wasn't mystery.
This was grief.
She walked slowly to the front door.
The key shook slightly in her hand.
Her father's key.
The one she had kept for years without ever using.
It turned.
The door opened.
Dust. Silence. Stillness.
Nothing had changed.
And somehow—
that made everything worse.
Luna stepped inside like she was entering someone else's life.
Books still lined the shelves.
A jacket still hung near the door.
A cup sat forgotten near the kitchen window.
As if he had only stepped out for a moment.
As if he could still come back.
Her chest tightened painfully.
"…I hate this."
Ethan stayed behind her, giving her space.
"I know."
She walked into the living room slowly, touching small things like proof.
A photo frame.
A book.
The edge of an old chair.
Every object felt louder than words.
"He was here," she whispered.
Not was.
Here.
Because grief ignored grammar.
Then her eyes stopped on something near the fireplace.
A locked wooden box.
Small.
Ordinary.
But wrong somehow.
Like it had been waiting.
Luna stepped closer.
"…Did you know about this?"
Ethan's expression changed slightly.
"No."
She knelt in front of it.
No label.
No note.
Just old wood and a tiny brass lock.
Her heartbeat started rising again.
Because instinct—
that same terrifying instinct—
told her this mattered.
A lot.
She looked up at Ethan.
"If this is another truth, I think I'm starting to hate truth."
He gave the faintest, tired smile.
"Too late now."
She stared at the box.
Then reached forward.
Slowly.
Carefully.
And lifted it into her hands.
It was heavier than it looked.
Something inside shifted.
Not paper.
Something else.
Something solid.
Her pulse quickened.
Because whatever was inside—
had been hidden by her father.
Protected.
Left behind.
For her.
Or from her.
And suddenly, Luna understood one thing with terrifying clarity—
This wasn't the end of the truth.
It was the beginning