The rest of the day at the hospital passed faster than I expected.
Between patient rounds and paperwork, I barely had time to think, which was probably for the best. The rhythm of the hospital had a way of pulling you in—constant movement, constant decisions, no space to sit still long enough for your thoughts to catch up with you. It was exhausting, but it was also… grounding.
Every now and then, I ran into Samuel.
Brief conversations in the hallway. Quick exchanges between cases. A passing comment here, a quiet question there. Nothing that lingered too long, nothing that crossed any lines—but it was enough.
Enough to make everything feel… easier.
He had this way of talking to me that didn't feel heavy. There was no history pressing down between us, no unspoken tension waiting to surface. Just simple, easy conversation. At one point, he had leaned against the nurses' station beside me, glancing over a chart before nudging it slightly toward me.
"You missed something," he said lightly.
I frowned, leaning closer. "No, I didn't."
He raised an eyebrow, tapping the page. "Look again."
I followed his finger, scanning the line—and then groaned softly. "Okay. Maybe I did."
A small smile tugged at his lips. "You're slipping."
"I'm tired," I shot back, though there was no real bite to it.
"Sure," he said, clearly not convinced.
But there was no judgment in his tone. No pressure. Just… ease.
And I realized, somewhere in the middle of that conversation, that I hadn't felt tense. Not once.
It was such a small thing.
But it meant more than I wanted to admit.
By the time my shift ended, the weight that had been sitting in my chest all weekend had loosened, just slightly. Not gone—but quieter. Manageable.
I didn't realize how much until I got home.
The mansion was lit this time.
Warm light spilled through the windows, soft and steady, cutting through the dimming evening. For a second, it caught me off guard. I paused just outside the entrance, my hand still on the door handle, taking in the sight like it meant more than it should have.
It hadn't been like this lately.
Quiet. Dark. Empty.
But now—
I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The familiar scent of the house wrapped around me instantly—clean, subtle, comforting in a way I didn't question. I slipped off my shoes near the entrance and stepped further in, my gaze drifting toward the living room.
Harley was there.
Sitting on the couch, one arm resting along the back, his posture relaxed—but not entirely. His attention was on something in front of him, though not fully. Like his focus wasn't really there.
Like he had been waiting.
My steps slowed slightly without me meaning them to.
For a second, I just stood there, taking him in. The soft glow of the overhead lights cast faint shadows along his features, sharpening the angles of his face. His expression was calm, unreadable—but there was something underneath it. Something I couldn't quite place.
Something that made my chest tighten just a little.
"You're home," I said.
He glanced up at me, his gaze locking onto mine almost immediately. "You're late."
It wasn't an accusation.
But it wasn't neutral either.
There was something in the way he said it—too measured, too deliberate. Like he had already decided something before I walked through the door.
"I had a longer shift," I replied, setting my bag down by the table. "Things were busy."
He hummed quietly, his gaze lingering on me for a second longer than necessary.
Not looking away.
Not saying anything.
Just… watching.
The silence stretched slightly, subtle but noticeable. It pressed against my skin in a way that made me suddenly aware of everything—how tired I felt, how quiet the house was, how his eyes hadn't left me.
I broke it first.
Moving past him toward the kitchen, I grabbed a glass of water, more out of habit than anything else. The cool surface of the glass grounded me slightly as I filled it, the soft sound of running water cutting through the quiet.
But even then—
I could still feel it.
His attention.
Steady.
Unwavering.
Following me without needing to say a word.
"How was the hospital?" he asked.
The question sounded casual.
Too casual.
"It was fine," I said, taking a sip. "Same as usual."
A pause followed. I could almost feel the shift before he spoke again.
Then—
"Ran into anyone interesting?"
My fingers tightened slightly around the glass.
For a split second, my mind went completely still.
Did he—
Did he see me with Samuel?
The thought came fast, sharp enough to make my chest tighten again. Images flickered through my head—hallway conversations, shared glances, that moment at the nurses' station.
Nothing wrong.
Nothing inappropriate.
But still—
Something about the way he asked made it feel like it mattered more than it should.
I set the glass down carefully before turning back toward him. "What do you mean?"
Harley tilted his head slightly, his gaze steady. "You said things were busy."
"I said we had a lot of patients," I corrected. My voice came out more controlled than I felt.
He held my gaze for a moment longer, like he was weighing my words, before nodding once.
"Right."
That single word didn't sound like agreement. It sounded like observation. Like he was taking note of something instead of accepting it.
A small frown pulled at my brows as I crossed my arms, leaning back against the counter. "Why are you asking?"
"No reason," he said easily. But his eyes didn't match the tone. They were sharper now.
Focused in a way that made it clear he wasn't just making conversation.
"You've just seemed… different."
The word settled between us, quiet but heavy. I didn't like the way it sounded.
"Different how?" I asked.
He didn't answer right away.
Instead, he studied me—really studied me this time. His gaze moved slightly, like he was taking in more than just my face. My posture. My expression. The way I was standing.
Like he was trying to piece something together. It made something uneasy stir in my chest.
"You seem lighter," he said finally.
I blinked, caught off guard. Lighter. Of all the things I expected him to say—that wasn't one of them.
"Is that a bad thing?" I asked, a small defensive edge slipping into my voice before I could stop it.
His gaze flickered slightly at that, something unreadable passing through his expression.
"I didn't say that."
Silence followed. But it didn't feel empty. It felt… full.
Like something had shifted between us, just slightly—something neither of us was saying out loud, but both of us could feel pressing against the surface.
I looked away first. The weight of his gaze was too much to hold onto for too long.
Grabbing my bag from the table, I adjusted the strap over my shoulder. "I'm tired. I'm going to go upstairs."
My voice sounded normal. Like I was trying too hard to make it that way.
Harley didn't stop me. Didn't say anything as I walked past him toward the stairs.
But I could feel it again. That quiet, steady attention. Watching. Following. Not missing anything.
Each step up the stairs felt heavier than it should have, like the distance between us wasn't really distance at all. Like something unseen was still stretched tightly between us, refusing to loosen.
I reached the top of the stairs and paused for just a second.
I don't know why. Maybe I expected him to call out. To say something. To stop me. But he didn't.
The silence remained.
I continued down the hallway, pushing open my bedroom door and stepping inside. The moment it clicked shut behind me, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
The quiet here felt different. Safer. But not entirely. Because even now— Even with a door between us— I couldn't shake the feeling.
That look in his eyes. The way he had watched me.
The way he had said lighter like it meant something more than just a word.
I sat down on the edge of the bed, my fingers curling slightly against the fabric of the blanket.
And for the first time— It didn't feel like he was just noticing a change. It felt like he already knew where it came from.
And he was waiting. Waiting for me to say it first.