The warmth of the hall pressed in around you, thick with voices, laughter, the scent of firewood and food. Jackson knew how to welcome people, and tonight was no different—people gathered in tight clusters, an old record player scratching out a country song.

You hadn’t expected to see him.

But there he was, standing near the back, half-hidden in the shadows.

Joel Miller.

The man you’d once loved. The man you’d once planned to build a life with, back before the world ended. Before Sarah died.

He looked different—leaner, harder, streaks of gray in his hair. But the eyes were the same. Dark, sharp, always watching.

And now, they were watching you.

You exhaled slowly and turned away, fingers tightening around your glass, but you felt him move before you heard him. The weight of him, the way he took up space without trying.

He stopped beside you, not quite close enough to touch. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off him.

“Been a while,” he said, his voice gravelly, low.

Your heart kicked against your ribs, years of memory and hurt and love rushing up all at once. You took a deep breath, forced yourself to look at him.