Maya didn't sleep.
She lay on the floor with her sketchbook open, pencil hovering uselessly above the paper while the building's panic buzzed through her bones like static. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt walls tightening, hallways compressing—as if the building were folding its arms around itself and asking *what do I do now?*
She whispered calming words she wasn't sure she believed.
"It's okay. You're okay. You're not alone."
Somewhere between fear and exhaustion, the hum softened—uneven, but quieter.
Her phone vibrated.
**Alex:** I'm outside.
Maya's heart stuttered.
She hadn't told him where she was. She hadn't told *anyone*.
She sat up, pulse racing, and padded to the window. Alex stood on the sidewalk under the streetlight, hoodie pulled up, hands shoved into his pockets like he was holding himself together by force.
He looked smaller at night.
That scared her more than the building ever had.
---
They didn't hug. They didn't even say hi.
Alex just nodded when she opened the door, and she stepped aside to let him in.
The house was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that magnified everything unsaid.
"You okay?" he asked.
Maya shook her head.
He exhaled slowly. "Okay. Thank you for not lying."
They sat on opposite ends of the couch at first, an awkward stretch of space between them that felt heavier than closeness. Alex kept his eyes on the floor, like he was afraid if he looked at her too directly something would break.
"I know Kade talked to you," he said.
Maya's fingers tightened in her sleeves. "How?"
"She talks like a storm," Alex said. "You feel it before it hits."
Maya smiled weakly at that.
"She knows things," Maya said. "About the building. About us."
Alex nodded. "She knows how to use them."
Maya glanced at him then, really looked. The tight line of his mouth. The dark circles under his eyes. The way he leaned slightly forward, like he was bracing for impact even while sitting still.
"You shouldn't have come alone," she said softly.
Alex shrugged. "I figured if she was watching, it'd be worse if I brought backup."
Maya swallowed.
That was so *Alex*. Always positioning himself between danger and everyone else, like that alone made him responsible.
"Alex," she said quietly, "you don't have to—"
"I do," he said, too fast. Then he paused, corrected himself. "I want to."
The building stirred faintly at the edge of Maya's awareness.
Interested.
She forced her focus back to Alex.
"She tried to make me help her," Maya said. "Said I could stabilize it. Like I'm some kind of… emotional circuit breaker."
Alex's jaw tightened. "Did she threaten you?"
"Yes," Maya said. "Nicely."
He stood abruptly and began pacing.
"I knew it," he muttered. "I knew she'd go for you. You're—" He stopped himself.
"I'm what?" Maya asked, heart pounding.
Alex scrubbed a hand through his hair. "You matter to it."
Maya's chest ached at the way he said it. Like *that* fact frightened him most.
"And you matter to us," he added quietly. "To me."
The hum dipped, curious and warm.
Maya's breath caught.
She hadn't imagined it, then. The way the building responded when Alex was near. Like it was paying attention to the way her pulse changed.
"I don't want to be a lever," she whispered. "I don't want to be used to pull something apart."
Alex stopped pacing. He looked at her like she was the only thing in the room.
"You're not a lever," he said. "You're a person."
Maya laughed softly, a little broken. "You say that like it's obvious."
"It is," Alex said. "To me."
The space between them felt charged now, the air humming in sympathy.
Maya hugged her knees to her chest. "What if the building gets hurt because of me?"
Alex sat beside her. Not touching. Just close enough that his warmth registered.
"Then it won't be because of you," he said. "It'll be because someone decided control mattered more than consent."
She glanced sideways at him.
"You're angry," she said.
Alex nodded. "I'm scared."
That surprised her.
"You don't act scared," she said.
He smiled faintly. "That's the problem."
The hum softened again, settling.
Maya closed her eyes.
She could feel it now—how the building echoed her emotions, amplified them. How her fear tightened it, and her calm loosened it.
And right now—
Right now, sitting next to Alex, the fear eased.
Which terrified her more than anything.
---
"Alex," she said slowly, "I think the building… likes you."
He blinked. "What?"
"It reacts differently when you're involved," Maya said. "Not just protective. Focused."
"That's not a good thing," Alex said.
"I know," Maya replied. "But it's true."
Alex leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "Great. Add that to the list of things I didn't ask for."
Maya smiled despite herself.
Silence settled—comfortable, dangerous.
"I had a thought," Maya said.
Alex turned his head. "I'm listening."
"If Kade wants control," Maya said, "and the building wants safety… then it's going to choose whoever feels like *home*."
Alex frowned. "And?"
"And homes aren't places," Maya said. "They're people."
The words hung between them.
Alex's breath caught, just slightly.
"Maya," he said carefully, "are you saying—"
She shook her head quickly, heart racing. "I'm saying it's complicated."
The building hummed—soft, almost amused.
Alex glanced around. "Did it just—"
"Yes," Maya said. "Sorry."
He laughed once, short and incredulous. "Unbelievable."
But he stayed.
They sat there until the hum steadied fully, until the walls felt less tight, until the night loosened its grip.
When Alex finally stood to leave, Maya walked him to the door.
"Don't go alone next time," she said.
He hesitated, then nodded. "Only if you promise not to either."
She nodded back.
At the door, neither of them moved for a second too long.
Alex opened his mouth, then closed it again.
"Goodnight, Maya," he said.
"Goodnight, Alex."
He left.
Maya closed the door and leaned her forehead against it, heart racing.
Behind her eyes, the building glowed with a new understanding.
Not fear.
Not protection.
Something gentler.
Something dangerous.
And somewhere between concrete and memory, it made a quiet adjustment—
Noting the way Maya's pulse changed when Alex was near.
Noting what mattered.
And choosing to remember it.