The house wasn’t quiet anymore.

It breathed. It creaked. It listened.

Noa stood in the bedroom doorway, the towel slipping off his hips like even the walls were trying to strip him bare. The air clung to his skin, damp and heavy, the kind that made each breath feel like dragging smoke through a straw. Damien was still in front of him, shoulders squared, a shadow that smelled like rain and smoke like something that didn’t belong in a house but in the moment before a streetlight died. ...