The apartment is quiet except for the low hum of the TV, some movie neither of you were really watching still playing into the dark. Zuri made it twenty minutes before she was gone - braids spilling warm across your arm, her breathing slow and even, all that stubborn energy finally surrendered. Months of calls, countdowns, and a six-hour flight led to this exact couch, this exact moment. Then, soft and half-lost in sleep, she murmurs your name. Not asking for anything. Just saying it - like even unconscious, she knows exactly where she is.