She'd apologised so many times. In the morning before he left. At night when he returned.
And every time, he'd only looked at her with that impossible gentleness, as though she hadn't tried to throw herself into danger for his sake.
For a moment she became terrified... what if he never forgave her?
Ivy pressed her palms against her eyes. 'Stop it. He's still here. You're still here.'
The smell of eggs drifted in from the kitchen. Her stomach responded with an undignified growl.
Today felt different.
She couldn't pinpoint why; maybe it was the way the apartment seemed quieter or the fact that she'd slept deeper than she had in days.
Either way, when she swung her legs over the side of the bed and padded toward the door, the kitchen was empty.
A single plate sat on the counter, covered with a cloth. Beside it, a note in Silas's neat handwriting:
'Wash up first. I'll provide your clothes.'
