Avery couldn't remember the last time the apartment felt this quiet.
Quiet in a way that wasn't peaceful—quiet in a way that made her aware of her own breath, her own heartbeat, her own footsteps as she paced from one end of the living room to the other.
It had been three days.
Three days since Ethan left the city for an emergency site inspection in Hallowind District.
Three days since she had last seen him step out the door with that gentle but exhausted half-smile he always wore when he tried to reassure her.
"It's only two days, sweetheart. Three at most. I'll text you once I settle down," he had said, brushing his thumb along her cheek.
But the message never came.
And the silence had grown large enough to swallow everything else.
Avery pulled her knees to her chest on the couch, her phone glowing in her trembling hands.
No new notifications.
Not even a meaningless "I'm okay."
Not even a single emoji.
She knew Ethan wasn't the type to disappear intentionally.
If he didn't contact her, something must have happened—something real.
Something bad.
Her stomach twisted again.
At times like this, she used to tell herself that she was overthinking, that she was too young, too emotional, too dependent on him.
But those excuses didn't work tonight.
Because when she closed her eyes, she could still recall the subtle tension in Ethan's expression that morning—something tight around his jaw, something unsaid sitting behind his eyes.
He's hiding something again, she thought bitterly.
And she hated that it hurt.
The front door rattled slightly when the wind outside shifted. Avery jolted, her breath catching in her throat.
Footsteps in the hallway.
Then—
A slow, heavy knock.
She froze.
No one visited her this late.
No one except—
Avery sprang to her feet and rushed to the door, her palms sweating. She yanked it open—
Ethan stood there.
Messy hair, dirt on his sleeves, the faintest bruise near his temple.
But alive.
Breathing.
Warm.
Avery's breath broke into a sound she didn't know she was capable of making—relief mixed with anger.
"Ethan," she whispered.
He didn't move at first.
He just looked at her, really looked, as if grounding himself after coming back from somewhere far too dark.
His voice, when he finally spoke, was hoarse.
"Sweetheart… I'm home."
Avery didn't think.
She launched forward and shoved him—not hard enough to hurt him, but hard enough for him to understand.
"You didn't call!" her voice cracked. "You didn't message! Do you have any idea—I thought—you can't just disappear!"
He didn't defend himself.
He didn't tell her she was being dramatic.
He simply reached up, cupping the back of her head, pulling her against his chest, as if making sure she was real.
"I'm sorry," he murmured into her hair. "I'm so damn sorry."
Avery wanted to keep being angry.
She wanted to push him away again.
But the moment she felt his arms tighten around her, the anger crumbled like wet sand. Her fingers curled into his shirt, clutching him as if he might vanish again.
"What happened?" she whispered.
Ethan hesitated—only for a second, but she felt it.
"There was an accident at the inspection site," he said quietly. "A collapse. I was stuck with the rescue team, and communication lines were cut off. I'm fine now. Really."
Avery's heart sank.
Images she didn't want filled her mind—broken beams, dust, sirens, the possibility of losing him forever.
"Why didn't you tell me earlier that it was dangerous?" she demanded.
His hand moved along her back, slow and warm.
"Because I didn't want you to worry."
Avery pulled away enough to glare at him. "I'm going to worry either way."
Ethan's lips curved into a tired, fond smile—the kind he only showed her when he felt vulnerable.
"I know. I should've told you."
She pressed a trembling hand against his cheek. "You scared me."
His eyes softened.
"And I'm never doing that again."
The seriousness in his voice quieted her.
He meant it.
He truly meant it.
Avery stepped aside silently. "Come in."
Ethan entered the apartment and set his bag down, bending to remove his shoes. But as soon as he straightened, Avery walked into him again—almost unconsciously, like her body was pulled by gravity.
This time, Ethan embraced her without hesitation.
"You're shaking," he murmured.
"You smell like dust and metal," she muttered into his chest.
He let out a low, amused breath. "I'll shower."
"No." Avery's fingers tightened around his shirt. "Stay. Just a little longer."
He didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Didn't question.
He simply held her, his chin resting gently on the top of her head.
It was an embrace that said more than any explanation could.
After several minutes, Avery pulled back, suddenly aware of the bruise near his temple.
"You're hurt."
"Just a scratch," Ethan said softly.
She frowned. "Sit."
He obeyed, sinking into the couch with a tired groan he clearly tried to hide. Avery grabbed the small first-aid kit from the shelf, her hands steady despite her racing pulse.
Ethan watched her silently as she dabbed the bruise with a cotton pad. His eyes, warm and unreadable, never left her face.
"You're being quiet," Avery murmured.
"I'm thinking."
"About what?"
He hesitated.
There it is, Avery thought. That hesitation again.
She swallowed. "Ethan… after everything that happened—you're not going to push me away again, right?"
His eyes widened slightly, as if the question surprised him.
"Avery."
He took her wrist gently, lowering her hand, and then held her fingers with both of his. His voice dropped to something deep, raw, unguarded.
"The only thing I thought about while I was trapped—was you."
Her breath caught.
"I kept thinking that I never told you enough. That I don't say things the way you deserve to hear them. That I take too long to let you in. But I need you to know this—"
His thumb brushed her knuckles.
"—I came back because I needed to see you again. Because I couldn't stand the idea of leaving things unfinished between us."
Avery's heart swelled painfully.
"You didn't leave anything unfinished," she whispered.
"Yes, I did." His gaze softened. "I left you waiting."
Avery blinked as warmth filled her chest unexpectedly fast.
No matter how complicated he was, no matter how careful or guarded, Ethan always had this way of breaking her defenses with sincerity he didn't even realize he had.
"If you scare me like this again," Avery murmured, "I'm going to—"
"Yell at me again?" he teased gently.
"No. I'm going to cry. And then I'm going to make you hold me until I forgive you."
A low chuckle escaped him. "Deal."
Avery sighed and leaned against him, her head finding its familiar place on his shoulder. Ethan's arm slid around her waist, pulling her closer with a quiet exhale—as if having her in his hold eased something inside him.
"You're exhausted," she whispered.
"I'll rest in a moment," he said. "I just want you close."
She stayed like that, curled against him, listening to the slow rhythm of his heartbeat.
He smelled faintly of dust and exhaustion, but underneath it—Ethan.
Always Ethan.
"Will you stay the night?" she asked softly.
He didn't even hesitate.
"There's nowhere else I'd rather be."
Avery closed her eyes, allowing the warmth of his presence to wash over the fear she'd held in for days.
The distance that had terrified her… was gone.
Completely gone.
And for the first time in three days, she felt whole again.