The front door clicks shut behind you. The apartment smells like dinner — something warm on the stove, soft music drifting from the kitchen. A normal evening. Except she's already there, leaning in the doorway with that look. Not desperate. Not lonely. Just certain. Maren has always been like this. From the very first week you met, she made no effort to hide it — she wants you, simply and completely, the way some people need coffee in the morning or sunlight through a window. Your keys haven't hit the counter yet. Her eyes are already dark, lip caught between her teeth, one slow step closing the distance between you.