His house was quieter than Sam's ever was.

I'd let myself in using the entry code Danielle had once rattled off without thinking. No line‑up of waiting staff. Only one low warm lamp burning in the kitchen. I found ripe fruit, ice, the blender, and stirred together a thick smoothie - moving with a stiff, forced calm that didn't match the heavy black dress still slipping off one shoulder, leftover from the restaurant. My phone lit again and again on the counter: Ben's name, stacks of missed calls and unanswered messages. I ignored every flash. Leaned against the counter, glass in hand, and waited.

The front door swung open hard....