***RYKER***

The room was quiet, except for the distant steady noise from the kettle. Steam curled upward, and the lid danced slightly to the pressure from the heat. The smell of coffee and old wood filled the air— the same scent that I met since I moved into this house.

I tilted the kettle into the cup slowly—the steam carrying the aroma of coffee meeting my face. Then, my thoughts drifted again, to Blake.

I sat on the wooden chair near the window, the same that creaked under my weight ...