Lilith’s Pov

It’s been… what, two? Three weeks?

I’ve lost track.

Here, in Killian’s house, the house he insists is ours—time feels like this strange loop. Every day merges into the next, like smudged paint on an overused canvas. The routine is always the same: eat, sleep, paint, stare at the ceiling, try to remember, try not to remember… repeat.

I don’t consider this place home. Not yet. Maybe not ever. The walls are too clean, too white. The sheets too soft. The silence too polite. Home is supposed to hold warmth, memories, chaos. This house just holds me. Temporarily.

I’ve been painting, though. A lot. Sometimes I don't even...