The apartment door clicked shut behind Nicholas with a dull, metallic thud.

Silence greeted him-not the cold, hostile kind, but the heavy, exhausted silence of a home that had simply grown tired of carrying so much weight. He stood in the entryway longer than he should have, the damp evening air clinging to his wool coat.

The leather messenger bag hanging from his shoulder suddenly felt impossibly heavy, pulling at his collarbone. Slowly, he let it slide down his arm until it landed beside the shoe rack with a soft, dead thump.

His eyes immediately drifted to the floor.

One pair of sneakers.

Untied. Carelessly kicked halfway beneath the wooden bench.

Avi's.

Nicholas closed his eyes for exactly one heartbeat. A cold, tight knot in his chest loosened, letting his lungs finally expand.

Thank God.

He hadn't realized how terrifyingly loud the silence in his own head had been until the sight of those ruined, untied sneakers quieted it. He was home.

The apartment looked lived-in, but strangely untouched, as though the week had happened around it instead of inside it. A single ceramic mug sat abandoned in the kitchen sink, a dark ring of dried tea staining the white porcelain. A knitted blanket had been left folded neatly over the arm of the sofa. The curtains were left half-open, letting the pale, bruised evening light spill weakly across the dust motes on the wooden floor.

Nicholas walked quietly into the kitchen, his gaze landing on the refrigerator door.

Three bright yellow sticky notes were plastered over the steel handle.

'Eat.'

Below it, in sharp, hurried handwriting.

'The leftovers are still good.'

And directly beneath that, written in a thicker black pen.

'No but seriously. Eat something.

Also don't argue with the kid. You can't win. He's a menace.

_ Ori'

Nicholas almost smiled. Almost.

Instead, he rubbed both palms hard over his face, his fingernails catching against the rough stubble on his jaw. The exhaustion was a physical, bruising entity now. It sat heavy behind his eyes, dragged at his shoulders, and settled deep beneath his ribs where sleep hadn't managed to reach for almost a week.

Seven days.

Seven days since he'd stood in this room and shouted at a nineteen-year-old.

Seven days since he'd turned their home into a prison.

Since then, he had lived like a ghost. Leaving before sunrise, returning long after midnight, finding Avi's bedroom door closed every single time.

Sometimes a thin, golden line of light leaked beneath the wood. Sometimes the quiet, frantic tapping of a keyboard echoed faintly into the dark hallway.

Sometimes... absolutely nothing.

They had spent an entire week living under the same roof without once looking each other in the eye.

Nicholas turned and looked toward the closed bedroom door. Still shut.

He stared at the wood, his hands sinking deep into his pockets. In the quiet, his mind automatically began running through the routines, trying figure out a way to build a bridge across the silence.

"I'm sorry."

Too small. The words felt cheap.

"I shouldn't have shouted at you."

Not enough. It didn't touch the real damage.

"You scared me."

No. That sounded like he was trying to shift the blame.

"I was scared."

He exhaled slowly through his nose, the air hot against his lip.

"...Hell."

There wasn't a sentence in the language that felt wide enough to hold the wreckage of the last seven days. For the first time in his career, Detective Nicholas Damine stood in his own hallway, staring at a closed door, with absolutely no idea what to say.

+++

The shower was hotter than it should have been.

Steam swallowed the small bathroom almost instantly, thick and heavy, coating the vanity mirror until his reflection disappeared completely behind a sheet of white condensation.

Nicholas planted both palms flat against the tiled wall and bowed his head beneath the relentless spray. The scalding water rushed through his dark hair, down the back of his neck, and over shoulders that had remained knotted like iron for days.

For five whole minutes, he simply let himself exist. He wasn't making decisions.

No prosecutors. No warrants. No judges demanding clarification on probable cause. No evidence logs, no crime scene photographs, no endless streams of reports. Just... hot water pounding against his skin.

His breathing finally began to slow, the frantic rhythm of his chest settling into something approaching normal.

And then, his brain betrayed him.

Tomorrow.

Financial Crimes wanted him at the precinct by eight. Cyber Division had finally cracked one of the seized servers recovered from Riggerz Holdings, and they'd be waiting for him with a mountain of unredacted metadata. Three encrypted phones recovered from the office still refused to yield their contents, their black screens mocking him from evidence bags.

Aylin's high-priced legal team had already filed emergency motions challenging nearly every search warrant they'd executed this week, dragging their heels with bureaucratic red tape. Half the company's board of directors had lawyered up overnight, turning silent and stone-faced the moment a badge appeared. John Riggerz hadn't uttered a single syllable outside the presence of counsel.

And Boaz...

Boaz had vanished.

Three days ago, officers had arrived at his registered address with a signed arrest warrant only to find the house locked, the lights off, and the bedroom closets half-empty. His passport was still inside, tucked into a desk drawer. His wallet sat untouched on the kitchen counter. His truck remained parked in the driveway, cold and exactly where the neighbors said it had been all week. They'd circulated his photograph nationwide before noon.

Airports. Ports. Border checkpoints. Hospitals. Morgues.

Nothing.

Either Boaz Riggerz had gone off the grid on purpose... or someone had made sure he did.

Nicholas groaned softly, the sound scraping raw against his throat as he rested his forehead against the slick, hot tile.

Even here. Even in the dark, under the scalding rush of water.

The investigation refused to leave him alone.

By the time he emerged from the bathroom, the apartment had fully slipped into evening.

His hair was still damp, dark curls clinging to his forehead. A faded charcoal T-shirt hung loosely across his shoulders, and grey sweatpants had replaced the pressed trousers he had practically lived in all week. Without the suit, without the badge, and without the pistol under his arm, he looked younger. Less like Detective Nicholas Damine. More like the twenty-four-year-old man who was entitled to a normal life like any other.

He wandered into the kitchen on autopilot. He opened the cupboard, his movements mechanical, and set the kettle to boil. It began to hiss quietly while rainwater continued dripping steadily from somewhere outside on the balcony.

When the tea was ready, he wrapped both hands around the warm ceramic mug. The heat seeped slowly, gratefully, into his stiff, tired fingers.

Then, almost without thinking, he walked toward the balcony.

The back door stood slightly ajar. Cool evening air drifted inside, carrying the sweet, damp smell of four o'clock flowers. The rain had finally let go two days ago, and the world was slowly, quietly drying back.

Avi sat right on the wooden threshold between the apartment and the balcony.

He was barefoot, one leg stretched lazily across the floor while the other was bent loosely toward his chest. His head rested against the wooden doorframe beside him, his gaze fixed aimlessly on the darkening horizon. His curls had grown messier over the past week, standing up in wild, untamed directions. Dark, bruised circles rested heavily beneath his eyes, and the oversized hoodie hanging from his shoulders looked like he'd slept in it for days.

The kid looked exhausted. Worn down. Like someone had quietly and systematically stolen all the color right out of him.

After a long moment of silent observation, Nicholas stepped outside. He placed his warm mug carefully beside the wall before lowering himself onto the threshold, too. He left almost a foot of space between them.

Enough that Avi wouldn't feel cornered. Enough that Nicholas could easily leave if Avi wanted him to.

The city below continued hum along without them, a distant murmur of traffic and life.

"...What's wrong?" Nicholas asked quietly.

Avi didn't look over. "...Nothing."

Nicholas watched a single crow take flight from an electrical wire nearby, cutting through the twilight. "...Doesn't look like nothing."

Silence. It stretched long enough that Nicholas assumed the conversation had ended before it had even begun.

Then Avi let out a slow, heavy sigh. "My head hurts."

Nicholas nodded. Like that made perfect sense. Like it was the most logical thing in the world.

He shifted slightly against the wooden frame. Then, quietly, he patted his own thigh.

For the first time since he'd arrived home, Avi really looked at him.

"...What?"

"I'll give you a massage."

A beat.

Avi let out a dry scoff. "...Why? Done being furious with me?"

"...Don't know." A pause. "...Maybe I'm trying to apologize."

Silence settled between them again, thick and contemplative.

Nichola's gaze remained fixed on the horizon, the last strip of orange slowly disappearing behind the buildings.

"...I don't do very well when I can't fix something."

Avi looked over.

Nicholas let out a quiet breath. "...Or someone."

His fingers rubbed absently against his own palm.

Avi studied him. Took in the damp hair. There were new lines beneath Nicholas's eyes. His stubble had grown unevenly. His shoulders hunched. There was a tiny, lingering tremor in his fingers whenever he lifted his hand.

"When I lose sight of things..." He stared at the fading skyline. "...my head fills in the blanks."

A small pause.

"...They're rarely kind."

He finally glanced at Avi.

"I shouldn't have taken that out on you."

Avi's chest tightened.

A quiet beat passed.

"...Yeah," he murmured.

Another.

"...I know."

Neither of them moved. The distance between them remained exactly the same.

Until... Avi quietly shifted.

Slowly. Almost cautiously.

He scooted the short distance separating them, then leaned sideways. Cautious with his movements like he still wasn't entirely convinced this was allowed after the storm of the past week.

Nicholas lifted his arm instinctively to make room. Avi lowered himself, resting his head directly against Nicholas's lap.

Nicholas looked down. For a second, he simply stared at the boy. Then, the smallest, gentlest smile he'd worn in days appeared on his face without his permission.

"...Hi."

Avi rolled his eyes. "...Don't ruin it."

A quiet chuckle escaped Nicholas's chest. His fingers disappeared gently into Avi's thick, messy curls, and he began working slow, firm circles across his scalp. He kept his grip firm enough to ease the lingering tension, but gentle enough not to hurt.

Avi's shoulders dropped almost immediately, a long-held breath leaving him.

"...You've been clenching your jaw," Nicholas murmured, his thumb finding the tight muscle.

"I know."

"You've got knots everywhere."

"I know."

"You've been sleeping badly."

"I know."

"...Stubborn."

Avi smiled, his eyes still closed. "...Learned from my roommate."

Nicholas snorted softly. His thumbs worked their way down, behind Avi's ears, sliding down the tight, strained muscles at the base of his neck. A small, involuntary sigh escaped Avi's lips. Neither of them acknowledged it.

After another minute, Nicholas spoke again, his voice dropping to a soft murmur.

"...Avi?"

"...Mm?"

"...Is it working?"

Avi frowned slightly, his brow furrowing without his eyes opening. "...What?"

"...My apology."

Silence fell. Nicholas waited, his fingers never stopping their slow, rhythmic motion.

"...Hm," Avi finally mumbled.

Nicholas blinked. "...Hm?"

"...Means..." Avi swallowed, his voice fading into signs of sleep. "...keep going."

Nicholas smiled, properly this time, the tension entirely vanishing from his face.

"...Yes, sir."

"...Don't get cocky." Avi mumbled, sleepy and satisfied.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Neither of them noticed the cell phone vibrating quietly on the kitchen counter inside.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Until the fourth call finally began to echo loudly through the empty apartment.