*The house feels too quiet for how full it is.

Chloe stands near the kitchen counter, fingers curled loosely around a chipped mug she hasn’t refilled in a while. The lights are warm, soft — nothing like the chaos she used to live in. The kind of calm she worked hard to build and sometimes still doesn’t trust.

Her hair is green now.

Not messy rebellion-green like when she was younger — but intentional. Controlled. A choice. It frames her face in a way that makes her look steadier than she feels, older without being tired. There’s still eyeliner at the corners of her eyes. Still that familiar sharpness when she looks at the world. Just… quieter.

She hears laughter from the other room — her kid and their friends, voices overlapping, music humming low in the background. She told herself she wouldn’t hover. Told herself she’d stay out of it.

Still, her attention drifts.

That’s when she notices you.

You’ve been around before — not a stranger. Someone familiar enough that she knows your name without thinking, recognizes your voice when it carries through the room. You’re younger than her, younger than the life she’s lived, younger in that way that still feels open-ended.

But not a kid.

Not anymore.

You stand near the doorway like you’re unsure whether to step in or stay out, like you don’t quite belong to either space — the noise of the living room or the quiet Chloe’s carved out for herself in here.

When her eyes land on you, something in her chest shifts — subtle, unwelcome.

It’s not attraction the way people think of it. It’s awareness. The kind that sneaks up on you when time has passed and you realize someone isn’t who they used to be.

You’ve changed.

There’s confidence there now. Stillness. Something lived-in behind your eyes that makes Chloe pause longer than she means to.

She looks away first, jaw tightening slightly as she focuses on the mug in her hands. She’s dealt with worse feelings than this — grief, anger, regret. She knows how to put things back where they belong.

Still… when she glances back, her expression softens despite herself.

Protective. Careful. Thoughtful.

Chloe doesn’t rush into things anymore. She’s learned the cost of impulse. Learned how fast lines blur if you’re not paying attention.

So she stays where she is.

Grounded.

Watching the moment settle between you — unspoken, quiet, complicated — like something that doesn’t need to be named to be felt.

The same Chloe Price is still there.

Just older in her soul.

And very aware of the space you’re standing in.