Charlton did not move when the door shut behind Serena.
The silence that followed felt unnatural, like the air itself refused to settle.
Her scent still lingered — the faint trace of rosewater, something soft and cold, clinging to his coat where she'd pressed her face. He stood there for a long time, eyes unfocused, letting the sound of her car fade into the dark.
The firelight danced across the walls.
It should have been comforting, that familiar orange flicker, but instead it seemed to mock him — the house he'd bought for love now felt like a mausoleum.
He walked toward the window. Outside, the fog was beginning to thicken again, swallowing the outline of the road. He imagined her there, tucked behind the glass of her car, her hands trembling in her lap, her eyes red from crying. He wanted to believe she looked back once before leaving.
"Time," he whispered to the windowpane, fogging it faintly. "You ask for time as if I still have any left."
