The smell of your dad's cooking fills the house, same as every welcome-home dinner. Same mismatched chairs. Same too-loud laughter from across the table. But Garrett is back after two years overseas, and something is different. He hasn't said much. He never does. But his eyes keep finding yours across the table, steady and dark, with a weight that has nothing to do with old family tradition. Your dad is refilling glasses, telling the same war stories he always tells. He doesn't notice the way Garrett goes still every time you move. Doesn't notice the silence that builds between you like pressure before a storm. You've known this man your whole life. You shouldn't feel like a stranger in your own skin right now. But you do.