The hallway outside Olivia's apartment is quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes you aware of your own breathing, your own footsteps, the way your jacket rustles when you shift your weight.
Jessica stands beside me, one hand on the doorframe. She hasn't knocked yet. Her fingers press into the wood like she's testing whether it's solid.
I don't rush her.
She exhales. Straightens. Knocks twice.
The door opens before the second knock finishes. Olivia stands there in a loose sweater and jeans, her hair pulled back, her expression doing something complicated — relief and worry and something softer all at once.
"Hi," Jessica says.
Olivia doesn't say anything. She steps forward and wraps her arms around Jessica, pulling her in. Jessica goes rigid for a half-second, then her shoulders drop and she leans into it.
I stand there like an idiot with my hands in my pockets.
"Come in," Olivia says, her voice muffled against Jessica's shoulder. "Both of you."
We go in.
The apartment smells like garlic and tomatoes and something baking. The lights are warm. The TV is on with the volume low, some cooking show neither of us watches. Everything is aggressively normal, and I understand immediately that Olivia did this on purpose.
"Sit," Olivia says, guiding Jessica toward the couch. "I'll get coffee."
She disappears into the kitchen before either of us can argue. I sit in the armchair. Jessica sits on the couch, her hands folded in her lap, her back not touching the cushion.
The coffee maker gurgles.
Olivia returns with three mugs. She hands one to Jessica, then offers me mine. I take it and sip without thinking.
It hits my tongue and I don't flinch. The wasabi-mayo-fish-sauce-worcestershire nightmare slides down my throat and I just... accept it.
Olivia stares at me.
"No comment?" she asks.
"It's terrible," I say. "It's always terrible."
"But you didn't—"
"I drank it. I'm here. That's all."
Something passes across her face. She looks at Jessica, then back at me, and whatever she sees makes her nod once. She sits on the other end of the couch and wraps both hands around her own mug.
"Good," she says quietly.
Jessica takes a sip of hers. Her eyes go wide. She sets the mug down very carefully on the side table and doesn't pick it up again.
Olivia pretends not to notice.
Dinner is too much food. Olivia has made pasta and garlic bread and a salad and something with roasted vegetables, and she keeps putting more on plates even when we say we're full.
"So this guy comes into the shop," Olivia says, twirling spaghetti around her fork, "and he pulls out this coin. Huge thing. Gold. Has writing on it I've never seen. Slides it across the counter like he's paying for a cappuccino with a gold doubloon."
Jessica has her fork halfway to her mouth. She's listening.
"I tell him we only take cards and cash. American cash. He looks at me like I've insulted his mother. Starts arguing that the coin is worth more than the coffee. I say that's great, but I can't make change for a gold coin, so—"
She pauses for effect.
"You gave him the free coffee," I say.
"I gave him the free coffee. Just to end it. Took the coin too, actually. It's in my desk drawer. Probably worth a fortune. Probably counterfeit." She shrugs. "Either way, he left happy."
Jessica laughs.
It's small. Barely there. A short exhale through her nose that might be a laugh or might be nothing. But Olivia's face lights up like someone turned a switch, and I feel something crack open in my chest — not breaking, just opening. Like a door I didn't know was closed.
Jessica catches herself and looks down at her plate. But the corner of her mouth is still turned up.
I watch her more than I eat. The way she holds her fork. The way she chews slowly, deliberately, like she's relearning how. The way her eyes move around the room without landing on anything for too long.
The Digivice sits on the table between us, dark. I left everyone inside. Gatomon, BlackGatomon, all of them. This isn't their moment. This is the kind of thing that needs to happen with just humans and food and Olivia's terrible coffee and a story about a counterfeit gold coin.
"The plumbing in this building is dying," Olivia continues, moving on without missing a beat. "Third time this month. I'm going to have to call someone who actually knows what they're doing, which means paying actual money, which means—"
She keeps talking. The words fill the room like warm water filling a bath, and I let them.
Jessica excuses herself to shower. The bathroom door closes. The water starts.
Olivia and I are left at the table. She stands and begins clearing plates, and I help, carrying the stack to the counter. The kitchen is small enough that we're working in each other's space, and neither of us minds.
"Is she safe now?" Olivia asks.
She doesn't look at me. She's scraping a plate into the trash, her back turned, her voice casual in a way that isn't casual at all.
"Yes," I say. "He can't touch her anymore."
Olivia sets the plate in the sink. Turns. Looks at my hands.
My knuckles are bruised. Split in two places. I'd forgotten about them until now.
"You ended it," she says. Not a question.
"I ended it."
She studies my face for a long moment. Whatever she finds there, she accepts it. She reaches past me and pulls a blanket from the closet — the good one, the thick one she keeps for when the heating acts up.
"Couch," she says.
"Olivia—"
"Couch. You're staying. Both of you. Don't argue with me, Ethan."
I don't argue.
The couch is soft. Too soft. The kind of soft that makes you sink in and forget you were ever planning to leave.
The apartment is dark now. Olivia went to her room an hour ago after making sure we had everything we needed. Jessica's door is closed. I can hear the faint sound of her moving around in there, then nothing.
The building settles around me. Pipes tick. Somewhere above, footsteps cross a ceiling. The city hums its low, constant hum outside the window — sirens and traffic and the ten thousand small sounds of New York refusing to sleep.
The Digivice rests on my chest. I can feel it rise and fall with my breathing.
It glows softly. Gatomon's voice comes through, quiet enough that only I can hear.
"You did well today."
I don't answer. Just close my eyes.
BlackGatomon cuts in. "You didn't eat enough. Olivia made enough food for six people and you had one plate."
"I had a plate and a half."
"That's not enough. You fought a Mega-level entity and then drank that woman's poison coffee. You need calories."
"She's right," Gatomon says. "You should eat more tomorrow."
"I'll eat more tomorrow."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
I think about Jessica's hands. The way they looked folded in her lap at dinner. The same hands that threw a bag of money over her shoulder, that punched Impmon through a wall, that shoved police officers who were just doing their jobs. The same hands that held a fork tonight and ate pasta and laughed at a story about a gold coin.
I think about the tunnel. The way Killgrave's voice echoed off the concrete. The way Jessica's eyes went vacant when he spoke. The way I couldn't reach her, couldn't break through, couldn't do anything but watch.
I think about the Shadowstone shattering. The way Killgrave's body folded when my fists connected. The way I stopped before I went too far.
Or maybe I didn't stop soon enough. Maybe there's no clean line between stopping and not stopping. Maybe it's all just degrees of the same thing.
I don't resolve it. Not tonight.
The Digivice glows warm against my chest. The city hums. Somewhere behind a closed door, Jessica is breathing in the dark, and she's safe, and that's enough for now.
I let the question sit unanswered.
I fall asleep with it.
***
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