The house was swallowed by darkness when Dylan turned the corner and finally saw it, his residence standing silent against the dim streetlights. The structure looked almost hollow in the absence of light, as if it, too, had been waiting and had grown tired of doing so.
As his car rolled closer, the house recognized him. The main door unlocked itself with a soft mechanical sigh, a sound that usually brought comfort. Tonight, it felt strangely loud.
Dylan drove into the underground parking and brought the car to a stop. This space had been renovated recently, long nights spent with Sam and Gibbs, laughing over wiring problems and stubborn panels. The memory felt distant now. He carefully lifted the cake box from the passenger seat, holding it as though the smallest misstep might ruin it. Lena's favorite. He had remembered that, at least.
