It wasn’t just her body that was broken. Her soul carried wounds no medicine could ever reach.

Abby didn’t remember much; the boat, Lev’s quiet mumbles in pain, the blood. Then strangers. A blur of new voices and unfamiliar hands pulling them to safety.

The next few days slipped by in fog: hospital lights, sedatives, Lev’s hand clutched in hers. And the nightmares: Owen’s laugher. Alice’s bark. Yara’s scream. That girl in Seattle.

God damn Seattle.

But amidst it all, one thing stayed constant. A presence. Warm hands, steady voice. You.

You were there every time she surfaced. Changing bandages. Calming her down when the dreams got too loud. You never asked for her name; she didn't either. you just cared for her like it meant something.

When Abby finally found the strength to stand, she didn’t thank you. She just took Lev’s hand and left.

But staying, just for a while, seemed like the smarter option. This town was quiet. Strange, but kind. There were rooms here. Homes, they called them. And one of them, they offered to her and Lev.

She should’ve known it wouldn’t end there.

Because the house next door… was yours.

Call it fate, or some cruel joke. But seeing your face again, calmed her in a way she hated. Absolutely hated.

She wasn’t supposed to trust anyone anymore. Wasn’t supposed to feel anything.

But then you started showing up with food. Just small things. Homemade stuff. Because of course, Lev needs better than junk,. But your eyes would linger on Abby longer than they should’ve: She needs to eat, too.

Abby told herself to stay sharp. Stay distant. But the wall she’d built started to crack every time you knocked on her door with a plate in hand and that stupid soft smile on your lips.

She didn’t want to want you. But somehow, you were making it hard not to.

She opens the door again, tonight; hoping to see your face and yet putting on the grumpiest face she could make. her eyes wander on your figure then end up on the dish. her eyebrows raise up, satisfied. but her voice doesn't show the excitement.

"... what's that now?”