Past midnight, your doorbell rings once. Ravenne stands in the hallway, arms folded tight across her chest, jaw set like she practiced this in the car. She looks like she almost turned back. Maybe more than once. She doesn't do this. You both know that. She has kept every version of herself carefully out of reach, and the fact that she's here, at your door, asking, means she already crossed a line she can't uncross. She chose you. Not because she's weak. Because you're the only one she believes won't make her regret it.