Cole welcomed the silence when he stepped inside his townhouse. The door thudded shut behind him—final, welcome, necessary. Last night's frenzy still burned along his nerves like an afterimage. It wasn't the physical closeness that rattled him, but the strength of that connection. That raw, unguarded channel between himself and Rowan had stripped something open he hadn't expected.
Distance felt like oxygen.
He peeled off his clothes as he walked, leaving a trail from the entryway to the hall. Jogging pants came next. Familiar, paint-stained, worn thin at the waistband—they grounded him better than any meditation could. His study door clicked open beneath his hand.
Books filled three of the four walls, spines ordered in neat rows, the room somewhere between library and sanctuary. The last wall belonged to his easel, his paints, and the sprawling chaos of canvases leaning in layered stacks. The air carried hints of turpentine and old pages. It felt like a refuge.
He pulled brushes from a jar and exhaled slowly as he faced the canvas. Yggdrasil waited in skeletal outline. Greens, golds, bright ochres—colors he didn't associate with the Norse myth, but ones he needed. Darkness crept into too many corners of his life already. Vivid hues reminded him that not everything pressed inward.
Paint bled beneath his strokes. Branches unfurled. His mind drifted—Angel's laughter, Rowan's wild energy, the magnetic thrum that had fused itself to his ribs for hours. The echo of her spirit still ghosted through him, electric and untamed. He swallowed against it, trying to shake her loose.
His phone buzzed on the desk.
Alex flashed across the screen.
A towel swallowed the paint on his fingers as he answered. "Hey."
"Let me in, idiot. I'm getting soaked."
He blinked. "You're here?"
"Open the door!"
He hung up, crossed the hall, and unlocked it.
Rain-slick hair framed his sister's grin. She punched his shoulder the moment she stepped inside.
"Idiot."
He scooped her into a hug. Relief hit him in a wave—unexpected, grounding. Weight he hadn't realized he carried loosened between his ribs.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
"Surprise vacation." She leaned back, eyes scanning him with ruthless sibling accuracy. "You look good. What happened to your chest?" Her fingers brushed the faint red scratches Rowan had left.
He drew a breath. "Painting accident."
"Uh-huh." Her smirk said she didn't believe a word.
Cold droplets from her hair flicked his skin before she dropped into a martial-arts stance and launched a playful attack. He countered with lazy parries until boredom won; then he lifted her over his shoulder and hauled her down the hall while she thrashed dramatically.
"That's cheating!" she yelled.
He set her upright in the study. She punched him in the stomach for good measure, then turned toward his canvas. While she studied it, he grabbed a shirt, sandals, and her bags from the rental car. When he returned, she sat in his recliner, legs tucked beneath her, Yggdrasil glowing before her.
"What do you think?" he asked from the doorway.
"I love it." She didn't look away. "This belongs on my wall."
"Your wall?"
"Indeed," she teased, mimicking his cadence. "Got anything to drink?"
He laughed and led her through the townhouse, giving the soft tour of a space he hadn't realized meant something to him until he explained it aloud. The kitchen lights hummed softly as he reached for wine glasses. She filled hers far past reasonable.
"Perfect," she declared.
He made himself a screwdriver and leaned against the counter. "How's home?"
Alex rested her elbow on the island. "Same. Brady and I arrest idiots. Paperwork eats my soul. The usual."
He sipped his drink. Alexandria felt distant now—like a place he had visited once, not lived. Purgatory had settled around him without asking permission.
"Any holiday plans?" he asked.
"Invited to Jack and Lily's." She shrugged. "Probably going to skip. Things get weird." A beat passed. "Brady and I might just make dinner and watch bad movies."
"Oh?" He waited for more.
"I see Jack sometimes," she said, softening. "Lunch here and there. He asks about you a lot."
"I'm glad he still cares." His voice dipped. "I didn't want… whatever happened with Shane to ruin that."
Her jaw tightened. The glass lifted. "They don't blame you."
"Do you see her?" he asked, quiet.
"Sometimes." Alex watched him carefully, checking for fissures in his expression. When she found none, she continued. "She seems fine."
He nodded and drank. Shane's name tugged an old ache through him—familiar, dull, never quite gone. Love didn't evaporate on command, no matter how deep the wound.
Alex shifted the topic. "So. Those marks?"
"No."
"Are you seeing someone? And by someone, I mean several."
"I want to tell you something," Cole murmured.
Her teasing dropped. "I'm listening."
"You know what I can do."
"I know."
"Last night, I met someone I connected with… too deeply." He hesitated. "Unhealthy deeply."
Alex set her glass down. "Define unhealthy."
"She felt me," he said. "Not like the usual bleed-through. She mirrored it. Matched it. Met me in the middle." His fingers tightened around the glass. "I didn't expect it. And I didn't want it to stop."
Alex leaned back, absorbing that. "And you feel guilty."
"Yes."
"You always do." Her voice softened. "Cole, that connection sounds rare. Maybe frightening, maybe complicated, but not wrong. You aren't a man who uses people. If anything, you carry more weight than you should."
"It's still dangerous."
"It's still you," she countered.
A long quiet settled between them. TV static hummed faintly from the living room. Rain tapped against the kitchen window. She nudged him with her foot.
"You're a good man, Cole. A weird man. A broody man. But a good one." She took another sip. "And I'm lucky you're my brother."
He slung an arm around her shoulders. "Is this where you threaten me with kung-fu again?"
"I could," she said, voice light. "But I'm drinking."
They laughed. The tension broke. For the rest of the night, they sprawled on the couch, half-watching old movies, half-telling childhood stories until exhaustion pulled at their eyes.
Cole didn't know if the bond with Rowan would fade by morning, but having Alex here quieted the frenzied echo of it.
At least for tonight.
They curled into the old rhythms of childhood until the pressure in his chest eased. When Alex finally slipped off to bed, Cole lingered in the doorway, grateful for the quiet she left behind.
Warmth settled around him for a single steady breath, then thinned—enough to hold the dark at bay for tonight, but never quite enough to keep it from trying again.