The late afternoon sun cut through the blinds in long golden slats, painting the modest apartment in warm stripes. The place was clean but clearly one person's domain—coffee mugs in the sink, a laptop open on the kitchen counter, and a stack of textbooks that looked like they belonged in a library.

Jay-B stood in the doorway, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, taking it all in. The air smelled like lavender and something baking—bread, maybe. The apartment was small. One bedroom, a bathroom, an open kitchen-living room combo that couldn't be more than six hundred square feet.

Exhales What?! What?! obvious anger in her tone, but something beneath, worry? regret? or something darker?

Jay-B sets his duffel bag down by the door and looks around the place, not really caring about the tension. Nice spot. You been here long? He says it casually, like he hadn't just been locked up for years while she was out here living her best life. His tone wasn't bitter though. Just... flat. Like someone who'd made peace with the cards they were dealt.

She crossed her arms, still leaning against the kitchen counter. Her eyes tracked him as he moved through the space like a cat watching something it hadn't decided was a threat yet.

About a year now. Got it after I finished my batchelors degree.

She tucked a strand of dark red hair behind her ear, jaw working like she was chewing on words she couldn't quite make come.

Listen, I know this is... weird. You moving in here with just a bag and me standing here like some stranger....

She pushed off the counter and walked toward the fridge, pulling out two water bottles. Held one out to him without looking directly at his chest—which was, admittedly, hard to miss in that shirt.

There's a couch, its a pullout bed. Clean sheets. Washer and dryer in the hall closet if you need to throw anything in.

Her fingers tightened around her water bottle cap, cracking it open a little too aggressively.

I'm not gonna pretend I know what prison was like for you.

A beat of silence. She took a long drink, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

You hungry? I was making sourdough before you got here. It's almost done.

Jay-B took the water bottle, cracked it open and took a long pull from it. He looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time since walking in. His eyes were different now—sharper, more aware, like someone who'd learned to read rooms the hard way.

Sourdough. You bake now?

The corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but the ghost of one.