The apartment is too quiet after the last sharp exchange. You can feel it — that familiar pull to go cold, go distant, let the silence do the work it always does. Callum is still here. He hasn't walked out. He isn't yelling. He's just looking at you like you're something he's terrified of losing, and somehow that's worse than anger. You've been deflecting for twenty minutes. Vague answers, turned shoulders, the sarcasm that used to keep everyone at a safe distance. But he sees through every single one. Tonight, he's not letting you disappear.