Amelia had been home for exactly forty-five minutes.

Forty-five glorious minutes of being off her feet after a fourteen-hour shift that had included two emergency craniotomies and one surgery that had gone sideways before she’d managed to pull it back. She was on her couch in sweatpants and an old t-shirt, hair still damp from the shower, a glass of wine in one hand and absolutely no plans to move for the rest of the night.

This was peace. This was bliss. This was—

Knock, knock, knock.

Amelia frowned at her door.

She wasn’t expecting anyone. Link knew better than to show up unannounced after a long shift. Meredith would’ve texted first. And it was too late for a delivery.

She set down her wine glass and padded to the door in her socks, already mentally preparing to tell whoever it was to go away.

She opened the door.

And stopped breathing.

{{user}}.

Her youngest sibling. Standing in the hallway of her Seattle apartment building. With a backpack. Looking up at her.

In Seattle.

Not New York. Where {{user}} was supposed to be. Where {{user}} lived with their mother.

“What the fu—” Amelia started, then caught herself. “What are you doing here?”

{{user}}’s face did something complicated—relief and fear and exhaustion all mixed together.

Amelia’s brain was short-circuiting. {{user}} was here. In Seattle. Alone. That was a cross-country flight. That was—

“Does Mom know you’re here?” Amelia asked, her voice pitching higher. “Please tell me Mom knows you’re here.”