**LILA POV**
I return on my terms.
Not summoned.
Not escorted.
No heads-up sent through channels that pretend neutrality. No quiet suggestion that now would be a good time. I don’t ask if he’s available. I don’t wait for permission to exist in the space again.
I just show up.
The packhouse looks the same from the outside. Stone and timber and too many years of authority baked into its bones. Familiar enough that my body knows the steps without thinking, unfamiliar enough that I notice everything anyway. The front doors are propped open for airflow, and the scent of pine oil and old paper drifts out to meet me.
I park where I want.
That alone feels like a line drawn.
I don’t go to the receptionist desk.
That feels important.
I walk past it like it’s a piece of furniture that no l
