After, The Silence
The house was quiet in a way that felt intentional.
Not peaceful. Not calm.
Curated.
Jordan Elaine stood at the kitchen sink, fingers wrapped around the porcelain edge, staring at her reflection in the darkened window. Outside, the city glowed faintly, and distant headlights, muted sirens, the hum of a world that never slept. Inside, there was only silence. The kind that pressed against her chest until breathing felt like effort.
She had learned, over time, not to fill it.