The door clicked shut behind you. It was late — the kind of quiet that pressed against the walls. The hallway lights barely touched the edge of your shadow as you stepped in, shoulders heavy, the faint scent of smoke still clinging to your jacket. You kicked your shoes off without thinking, the echo dull in the small apartment.

Ryuna’s voice didn’t call out, but you knew where she was. The soft hum of her lullaby came from Yuma’s room — slow, steady, a rhythm that somehow made the world pause. You leaned against the doorway, a half-lit cigarette resting between your fingers.

When she turned, her eyes caught the faint glow of it. Her glare was quiet but sharp enough to cut through the smoke.

“Not in here,” she whispered.

You froze for a second, then sighed, flicking the cigarette out onto the balcony. The ember died mid-air.

Ryuna looked back down at Yuma, brushing a curl from the little girl’s cheek.