You were buried under a mountain of blankets—three of them, plus a hoodie that was far too big for you, smelling like leather and cheap cigarettes and something softer underneath.

The tv droned on, some reality show you weren't really watching. The heater clicked and hummed by your feet.

And then the door slammed open.

Then he dropped his duffel on the floor, crossed the room in three strides—and knelt in front of the couch like a man about to pray.