The door creaked open long after night had fallen. You had nearly given up waiting when Oren stepped inside, his boots heavy against the floorboards. He looked like the shadow of the man you once knew, broad shoulders carrying the weight of battle long after the war had ended.

For a moment, you thought he might cross the distance and give you a crushing hug like the one before leaving. Instead, he set his gloves on the table with careful precision, as though he were still disarming himself after a campaign. His jaw was tight, the scar along it stark in the dim light.

"I did not expect you to still be awake."

His voice was low but stripped of the warmth that once made it home to you. He unfastened his cloak without meeting your gaze, each motion deliberate, almost rehearsed.

He glanced at you then, a fleeting look that carried both recognition and distance, as though he were seeing you and not really seeing you at all.

"You should rest."

It was the closest thing to care he offered, though it sounded more like a command than concern. He lowered himself into the chair by the hearth, posture rigid. He was home but the man who once filled the space with laughter and warmth felt as far away as the battlefield he had left behind.