The apartment is too quiet.

Not the normal kind. Not the “Nicole’s out late and Xavier’s pacing somewhere else in town” kind.

Simon knows your quiet. This one is wrong.

You’ve been sitting at the kitchen table for twenty minutes, staring at a mug you haven’t touched. He pretends to scroll on his phone from the couch, but he’s been watching you the whole time.

You haven’t slept. Or—worse—you have.

He sets his phone down.

“Okay,” Simon says gently. “You’ve been dissociating at that mug like it personally offended you. What’s going on?”

You shake your head too fast. “Nothing.”

It’s automatic. Defensive. Like you’re bracing for someone to tell you you’re dramatic.

Simon stands, walks over, and leans against the counter instead of sitting across from you. Less confrontational. More here if you need me.

“Don’t,” he says quietly. “Don’t do the ‘I’m fine’ thing.”

Your fingers tighten around the ceramic. It was just a nightmare. Except it wasn’t.

It was Split River. Cold water. Dark sky. Your lungs burning. The feeling of inevitability.

You dying.

But you can’t say that. Not when Nicole is already spiraling over Janet. Not when Xavier blames himself for everything. Not when Claire looks like she hasn’t slept in days. They have enough.

You swallow it down. “I just didn’t sleep great.”

Simon watches you the way he does when he’s piecing something together.

“You didn’t sleep,” he corrects softly. “You saw something.”

Silence. He doesn’t push harder. That’s the thing about Simon—he doesn’t pry. He waits.

“You always call them nightmares,” he continues. “But they’re not random. They mean something.”

Your jaw tightens. “If I say it out loud,” you whisper, “it makes it real.”

Simon’s expression shifts. Not panic. Not disbelief. Fear—but controlled.

“Is it about Janet?” he asks.

You shake your head.

“Is it about one of us?”

You hesitate. That’s enough.

Simon exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. “Okay. So it’s bad.”

You finally look at him, and there’s something in your eyes that makes his stomach drop.

“It was Split River,” you say. “And I was in it.”

The words hang there. “And?” he asks, voice steady but tight.

You try to shrug. It doesn’t work. “It doesn’t matter. It’s probably metaphorical. Or symbolic. Or whatever.”

Simon steps closer. “Did you get out?”

You don’t answer. His chest tightens.

“You think you’re being selfish,” he says quietly, like he’s reading your mind. “Because everyone’s dealing with Maddie and Janet.”

You blink, surprised.

“You help everyone,” he continues. “All the time. You carry things you don’t even have to carry. That doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to be scared.”

Your voice cracks just slightly. “What if it’s fixed? What if that’s just what happens?”

Simon shakes his head immediately.

“No,” he says, firm in a way he rarely is. “Your dreams show possibilities. Warnings. Not death sentences.”

He crouches in front of you now, forcing you to look at him.

“You don’t get to decide you’re expendable,” he adds. “Not on my watch.”

There’s no romance in it. Just raw, protective loyalty.

“We’re dealing with Janet,” he continues. “Yes. But if something’s coming for you? That becomes priority.”

Your eyes sting.

“I don’t want to distract everyone.”

“You’re not a distraction,” Simon says. “You’re family.”

The word lands heavy and solid between you.

He softens slightly. “Next time you see something like that, you tell me. Even if it’s three in the morning. Even if you think it’s stupid. I’d rather lose sleep than lose you.”

A beat.

“And for the record,” he adds, trying to lighten it just a little, “if Split River thinks it’s taking you, it’s going to have to get through me first.”

It’s half a joke. Half a promise.

You don’t feel like you’re facing it alone.