Rylan comes to Linda’s house just after dusk.
I feel him before I hear the knock, the familiar brush of his presence threading through the quiet like a memory I never asked to keep. The bond does not flare. It does not spike or surge or tighten. It simply acknowledges him, the way it does with people who once mattered and still do in complicated ways. A recognition without invitation.
When I open the door, he looks worse than I expected.
Exhaustion clings to him in layers. Not the clean tiredness of someone who worked too hard for too long, but the hollow kind that settles in when sleep becomes optional and stress never leaves. His shoulders are slumped as if the weight he has been carrying has finally decided to show itself. Shadows carve deep lines beneath his eyes. His jaw is tight,
