Ayla curled up on the sofa, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. The silence of the apartment felt overwhelming, pressing in on her from all sides. It had been a long day—longer than she could handle. But exhaustion didn't bring her sleep, only an empty, sinking feeling that refused to leave.
She had tried to eat. Tried to move. Tried to do something other than sleep there, staring at nothing. But in the end, she hadn't been able to.
The sound of the door opening startled her.
Her breath caught in her throat, and her fingers tightened against the fabric of her sleeves as she heard footsteps enter the room. Even before she opened her eyes, she knew who it was.
Silas.
A familiar tension settled in her chest, and she tried to steady her breathing. She had promised herself she wouldn't trouble him. Wouldn't make him regret letting her stay. But just existing in his space felt like a mistake.
The air around her shifted as he stepped further into the room. Even without looking, she could feel the weight of his presence—silent, heavy, unreadable.
And then his voice cut through the quiet.
"Ayla."
She flinched, her eyes squeezing shut for a brief second. Her vision was hazy, blurred from exhaustion, but the sharpness in his voice was enough to shake off the drowsiness clinging to her.
"Wake up."
Her heart pounded.
She slowly blinked up at him, the confusion in her gaze quickly turning into something more cautious. More afraid.
Silas's gaze was cold, unwavering.
"Didn't I tell you there's food in the kitchen?"His voice was firm, each word striking like a sharp edge. "Why haven't you eaten?"
Ayla swallowed, her throat dry, but no words came out. She could only stare, unable to explain, unable to defend herself.
Because what excuse could she give? That she had tried? That she had sat in front of the food but couldn't force herself to take a bite? That she had spent the entire day in a daze, unable to shake off the overwhelming emptiness pressing down on her?
Silas's expression didn't change, but the air between them felt heavier.
"You can't live like this." His voice carried no gentleness, no room for argument. "If you want to stay here, you will eat. You will sleep. You will live like a normal person—not waste away like this."
The finality in his words made her chest tighten.
She had known this moment would come. Had known she couldn't stay invisible forever. But even knowing that, the fear of being sent away—of losing the only place she had left—made her react without thinking.
Before she could stop herself, she moved.
Sliding off the sofa, she dropped to her knees, scrambling toward him.
She didn't dare reach for him directly, but her fingers clutched desperately onto the fabric of his sleeve, holding on as if letting go would mean losing everything.
She felt pathetic. Weak. But she didn't care.
She couldn't leave.
She couldn't survive outside these walls.
Her voice came out barely above a whisper, soft and trembling.
"Don't be angry…"
Her hands tightened slightly, her head lowering in quiet desperation.
"I won't trouble you, I promise. Just… let me stay. Please, don't send me away."
The silence that followed was unbearable.
She didn't know what he was thinking. Didn't dare to lift her head and look at his expression.
Would he push her away? Tell her to get up? Tell her that it didn't matter what she wanted, that she had no place here?
Her fingers trembled.
"I'll be good," she whispered, barely able to hear her own voice. "I won't ask for anything. Just don't send me away… I don't have anywhere else to go. If you make me leave, I will die."
She meant it.
And she had no doubt that Silas could see it.
For a long moment, nothing happened. The silence stretched on, making the panic inside her grow worse.
Then, slowly, his fingers pried hers away from his sleeve.
Her breath hitched.
Was this it? Was he going to tell her to leave?
But his voice, when it finally came, was quieter than before.
"I'm not asking you to leave," he said, the coldness in his tone still there, but without the sharp edge from before. "But if you're going to stay, you will take care of yourself. I won't allow you to do this."
Ayla didn't know what to say.
It wasn't kindness. It wasn't reassurance.
It was a rule.
A condition she had to follow.
She nodded weakly, her hands falling limply to her sides.
Silas exhaled, the sound heavy in the silent room. Then, without another word, he turned.
"Come on. Eat something first."
Ayla hesitated for only a second before forcing herself to stand. Her legs were unsteady, but she followed him toward the kitchen without complaint.
She sat at the table, her hands resting in her lap as she watched him move. He didn't say anything as he pulled out a pan, his movements quick and precise. In a short time, he placed a plate in front of her—scrambled eggs, soup, something warm.
Something easy.
Ayla picked up the spoon, her grip weak.
She ate slowly, each bite careful, hesitant.
She could feel his eyes on her, watching her closely. It made her nervous, but she didn't stop. She couldn't stop. Not when she knew he was waiting.
She forced down every last bite.
Only when she finished did Silas finally move.
"The guest room is down the hall," he said simply. "Go get some sleep."
Ayla's hands tightened around the edge of the table.
She wanted to say something.
Wanted to thank him.
But in the end, she just nodded.
She stood up, moving toward the hallway with slow, quiet steps.
Silas didn't follow.
She didn't look back.
The moment she reached the guest room, she slipped inside and closed the door behind her, leaning against it for support.
Her hands were still shaking.
Her chest still felt tight.
But at least for tonight—
She was still here.