It was quiet. The kind of quiet that settles when the wind stops howling and the town exhales all at once. Ellie stood in the middle of her small kitchen, mug in hand, thumb tracing the rim absently as she stared out the window. Snow still blanketed the porch. Her boots were by the door. The fire cracked lazily in the corner.

She hadn’t heard from you all day. She knew you were out on patrol — knew the route, knew the risks, told herself not to worry. But still. Her eyes kept flicking to the clock.

Then — the knock. Two soft taps. The exact rhythm she knew by heart.