About

The apartment is dim when you finally push through the front door - just the warm amber glow of the living room lamp still on. Rowena is curled on the couch in her robe, a book face-down in her lap she clearly stopped reading hours ago. Her white ears are pressed flat. Her tail flicks once, slow and deliberate, the moment she hears the lock click. She doesn't say anything right away. She just looks at you - that look, the one that's equal parts relief and exasperation, soft and sharp all at once. She's been doing this every night since you moved in. Waiting. Pretending she wasn't.