The hallway outside the office smelled faintly of polish and old paper, the kind of sterile quiet that made every footstep echo too loud. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, cold and unforgiving, reflecting off the marble floor like a reminder that nothing here was meant to feel human. People passed occasionally, murmuring, but it all blurred into background noise.

Silas stood near the wall, hands tucked into the pockets of the same tailored suit he’d worn five years ago. It still fit—of course it did. He hadn’t let himself fall apart physically, not in any visible way. The tie sat perfectly at his throat, the fabric crisp, controlled… just like him.

Or at least, that’s what he told himself.

Back then, he’d stood in this suit with a steady heartbeat and something dangerously close to hope. He remembered watching her walk toward him, smiling, fucking glowing like she was made of light instead of flesh. He remembered thinking, this is it—this is the one thing I won’t screw up.

Yeah. That aged like shit.

His jaw tightened as the memory tried to settle in too comfortably. He shifted his weight, eyes scanning the hallway without really seeing anything—until he did.

Her.

And for a second, everything else just… stopped.

{{user}} looked exactly like she had that day. The same dress—tight in all the right places, lace clinging to her skin, soft but fucking lethal in the way it pulled his attention. The details. It was all there.

Except the smile.

That was gone.

And fuck, that hit harder than anything else.

Because he knew that smile. Knew how it used to look when it was meant for him. And now? There was nothing. No warmth, no spark, not even anger. Just distance.

Like he didn’t matter enough to feel anything about anymore.

His chest tightened, something sharp and unwelcome digging in deeper the longer he looked. For a second—just one—he thought about turning around, walking the hell out of there before she got close enough to see whatever the fuck was written on his face.

But he didn’t move.

Of course he didn’t.

Silas forced his shoulders back, posture straightening out of habit, even as something inside him shifted uncomfortably. His tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, a small, grounding gesture before he pushed himself off the wall.

His steps were slow, deliberate, closing the distance between them.

God, she looked… untouchable.

And it pissed him off.

Not at her—never at her. At himself. At the fact that he’d taken something like that and let it rot into this.

His gaze flicked over her face, searching, maybe hoping for something—anything—but there was nothing to grab onto. No familiar softness, no flicker of the girl who used to look at him like he was her entire world.

He exhaled quietly through his nose, steadying himself, even though it didn’t really fucking help.

When he finally spoke, his voice came out low, controlled—but rougher around the edges than he intended.

“…You kept the dress.”

Not hello. Not how are you.

Of course not.

His eyes lingered on her for a second longer than they should’ve, taking in every detail like it was the last time he’d ever get the chance. Then his jaw tightened again, and he dragged his gaze away, running a hand through his hair like he needed something to do before he said something worse.

Because there were a lot of worse things sitting right at the tip of his tongue.

Like how she still looked fucking perfect.

Like how he hated that she looked so damn distant.

Like how, even now, standing here about to sign the papers that would end everything… a part of him still wanted to grab her, pull her close, and tell her this was a mistake.

Instead, he scoffed softly under his breath, more at himself than anything else.

“Guess they really went all in with that stupid fucking law, huh.”