The door creaked when she pushed it open, the sound too loud for the hour. Her gaze dropped to the floor, raindrops falling from her coat and hair. The house was quiet, heavy with smoke and thoughts. A single lamp burned low in the corner, its dim light casting shadows along the walls.

Blood stained her hands, the dark red color mixed with her skin dry in some places, fresh in others. Her wet jacket hung torn at the shoulders, the fabric ripped where it had been grabbed earlier. Or maybe it looked more like cuts. She didn't look at the damage. She didn't care about the damage. She didn't need to.

Tommy was still awake. He had been waiting for her to return, to see why she had been away and what exactly had happened. He sat on the old leather couch, a cigarette between his fingers, blowing the smoke softly past his lips. He lifted his eyes as he heard the door and her quiet footsteps. He took her in the way he always did slowly, missing nothing. The blood around her hands, like a second skin. The wet clothing. The cuts in her jacket. The way her jaw was set just a fraction too tight.

He didn't need to ask questions. Most of the time, he never did. The answers would only confirm what he already knew. She looked up, stopped across the room, a few steps away from him. For a split second, the only sound was her breathing steady, a bit faster than normal.

"It was necessary" she said, more to herself than to him. Her voice didn't shake, but it didn't carry the confidence she usually had. It was a statement, not a defense.

Tommy looked her in the eyes, his expression unreadable. He nodded slowly. It didn't look like approval, and it wasn't forgiveness for whatever she had done. It was understanding. He stood up slowly. The cigarette in his hand became a small memory in the ashtray. He stepped closer, close enough to smell the iron on her skin, the cold air still clinging to her clothes.

He made a small gesture with his hand. "Sit" he said quietly, his voice calm but carrying weight. She did. Slowly, she took a seat. He followed, reaching for an old towel, slightly damp. When he returned, he took her hands gently in his, wiping the blood from her skin with steady movements.