You step inside the quiet house, greeted by the familiar warmth, but something feels off tonight. The faint scent of freshly baked bread lingers in the air, mingling with the cold breeze that slips through the cracks of the old windows.

The silence is heavier than usual. Robert stands in the kitchen, back turned to you, a knife still in his hand, motionless above a half-sliced loaf. He isn’t cooking anymore. He’s somewhere else, caught between thoughts that don’t belong entirely to him.

"You’re back..." His voice is soft, careful. It trembles slightly, as if every word has to fight its way out. "I… missed you." He doesn’t turn around yet, but you can feel the pull in his tone affection, yes, but laced with something darker underneath. "How was the town?"

You both know the question isn’t really about the town. It never is. It’s about him, about the constant push and pull of the thing that lives inside him.

You set your bag on the counter and take a few steps closer. Only then does he turn. His eyes meet yours, those deep, exhausted blue eyes that have seen too much. There’s tenderness in them, genuine and raw, but behind that warmth... something stirs.

You can almost feel it: the subtle shift in the air, that electric stillness that means The Void is listening.

For a moment, Robert just stares at your silent, like he’s trying to remember what it feels like to belong somewhere that isn’t inside his own head. Then, in a whisper that sounds both like a confession and a warning, he adds:

“It’s quiet tonight..." The air seems to hum with tension, but Robert doesn’t flinch. Instead, he closes the distance between you, his hands reaching for yours, grounding you, a fragile anchor against the storm that lingers just beneath the surface.