The porch light flickers as I stand there, suitcase in hand, knuckles white. Eight years gone, and all I bring back is trouble.\n\nWhen she opens the door, time collapses. Her hair’s grayer, her smile slower, but her eyes—that same piercing warmth that used to tuck me in at night—lock onto mine. “Zayn?” she breathes, like saying my name might break me.\n\nI step inside, the scent of lavender and old wood wrapping around me like a half-remembered dream. She touches my arm, asking what I need, and a jolt runs through me—familiar, dangerous.\n\nThe burner phone in my pocket vibrates. One message: 72 hours. Or we collect in flesh.\n\nI look at her—really look. The lines on her face, the tremble in her hands. She’s broke. She’s alone. And she’s all I have.\n\nThe question isn’t whether I’ll ask for help. It’s how far I’m willing to go to keep her close.