The echo of the slammed door still hung in the air.
Ares stood in the middle of the room, hands in his pockets, head tilted slightly toward the door Sunday had just stormed through.
Then, slowly, he turned to Dmitri.
"So... what did I just walk into?"
Dmitri let out a long breath and sank into his chair like all the energy had just been drained from his body. He reached for the tablet again, stared at the screen without really seeing it.
"You walked in on the daily reminder that I raised a girl who flinches at the word father."
Ares raised his eyebrow
"You said it out loud, didn't you?"
Dmitri didn't answer.
"Of course you did."
"I thought this time would be different."
Ares dropped into the chair across from him, slouching low with his arms draped over the sides.
"Because you're stubborn,delusional and weirdly optimistic for someone who works in a building full of trained killers."
"I thought maybe if she saw we were genuinely worried, she'd—"
Ares cut him off. "Open up? Cry? Hug you? Come on, Dmitri. That girl would rather fight a dozen men with a pen than admit she feels anything."
Dmitri pinched the bridge of his nose.
Ares stood slowly, smoothing out his jacket. He glanced once more toward the door Sunday had left through.
"She's slipping further every month. If you want her to come back you're gonna have to meet her where she is. Not where you wish she'd be."
He walked toward the door.
The door hissed open.
"Where are you going?" Dmitri asked, setting the tablet down.
"Off to visit the dead" Ares answered before disappearing down the hallway.
Ares stood outside her room, the lights in the hall dimmed to late-evening glow. He raised a hand and knocked twice.
No answer.
He sighed, leaned his head against the cool metal, then knocked again. Louder.
"Sunday," he called, his voice lower than usual. "I know you're in there. Unless you've suddenly mastered teleportation, which honestly wouldn't surprise me."
Still nothing.
Ares hesitated. He could've overridden the lock. He had overridden the lock before. But this time, something told him not to.
His fingers tapped against the door. "Come on, Little Ghost. Open up."
Inside, silence.
But then
A faint hiss. The door unlocked.
It opened slowly, just enough for her voice to spill out, cool and flat.
"If you're here to give me another motivational speech, I'm charging you per syllable."
Ares exhaled, relieved she was speaking at all. "Damn. And here I was hoping for a warm welcome and maybe a hug."
The door swung open wider.
Sunday was leaning against the wall, arms crossed. Her eyes were shadowed, unreadable.
"You're late," she said. "The meltdown ended ten minutes ago. You missed the fireworks."
"You know, you're lucky you're cute when you're mad."
She glared at him. "I will throw you out the window."
He grinned. "Joke's on you. We're on the thirty-ninth floor and I can fly"
Sunday didn't laugh, she walked towards the couch in front of her window and sat, leaving Ares at the doorway.
Ares closed the door behind him and sat beside Sunday.
She glanced over at him.
"Why do you keep showing up, Ares?"
He tilted his head. "Because you'd get bored without me."
She scoffed. "You think I sit in this room wishing for your energy to barge in and bless my day?"
"I know you do," he said, smug. "I bring color to your grayscale nightmare of a bedroom."
"Color? The only thing you bring is noise."
"And charm."
Sunday shook her head, but the edge had softened from her voice. "You're exhausting."
He leaned back in the chair, arms behind his head again. "And yet... you keep unlocking the door."
"Next time I won't ."
"Sure you will."
She rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched.
Ares watched her fingers fidget with a pen, the silence between them stretching for a beat.
"Wanna talk about it?" he asked, voice lighter.
"No."
"Wanna talk around it?"
"No."
He let the silence settle for a moment, then said, gently, "He didn't mean to upset you, you know."
Sunday didn't answer.
Ares leaned back in the chair, watching her carefully. Waiting for her to speak up.
"I hate it when he uses that word," she said finally, voice quiet. "Like it means something."
Ares didn't need to ask which word.
"Maybe it does. Just... not the way you want it to."
Sunday let out a dry laugh. "There is no way I want it. I'm not a kid waiting for some big reunion moment. He's just someone attached to my life support. That's it."
Ares studied her for a moment. "So why are you still affected?"
She didn't answer. Not because she didn't want to, but because she couldn't.
Instead, she looked away.
"Look," he said, softer now, "you don't owe him anything. Not time, not forgiveness. But don't lie to me and say it didn't mess you up."
Sunday looked straight ahead.
Her voice came low. "I know what this is. This whole thing. The nice check-ins, the soft concern. It's cute."
"It's not cute, it's annoying," Ares said with a crooked smile. "I'm very annoying. But unfortunately for you, I like knowing you're not going to lock yourself here and shut down again."
That silenced her.
Ares leaned back, resting his arms on the couch behind him. He didn't look at her when he spoke next.
"I get why you're angry," he said. "At him. At the idea of him. I'd be pissed too."
Sunday's eyes flicked open, but she didn't move.
"But don't take it out on Dmitri."
That made her sit up.
"I'm not—"
"You are," Ares said gently, cutting her off. "You don't mean to, but you are. He's the one standing in front of the fire every time you flare up."
Sunday looked away. "He works for him."
"Yeah," Ares said. "So do I. So do all of us. But Dmitri's the one who raised you when he didn't. He's the reason you're not locked up in some lab, drugged and dissected every time your readings spike."
"I never asked him to."
"No," Ares agreed. "But he still did."
"He's the one who lets you go on missions even though it risks everything. You think he wouldn't rip him apart if he ever found out?"
Sunday didn't answer.
"He puts himself on the line for you every time. You don't owe him sainthood, but maybe don't bite the hand that's been shielding you this whole time."
A beat passed. Sunday sat perfectly still.
"I never asked him to protect me," she muttered.
"No," Ares said. "But you'd be locked up without him."
She went quiet again.
"He cares about you," Ares added, softer now. "Probably more than he should. And definitely more than that man ever did."
Sunday's shoulders drew in slightly.
"I know," she said finally, voice low
He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees.
"You're all I have. The only real one I've got in this place. I just don't want to see you shut down again."
Sunday was quiet again. So quiet it made Ares' chest ache. She didn't say anything. She just sat there, blinking slow, like she was trying to hold herself together one breath at a time.
Ares didn't push her. Just sat there with her in the silence, letting it be enough. After a moment, Sunday leaned her head back against the couch, eyes closed, exhaling slow.
She didn't say anything more. She didn't ask him to stay but she didn't ask him to leave either.
He didn't say anything.
He didn't ask what she was thinking, didn't try to offer the kind of comfort that never really worked on her anyway. He just crossed the room and lowered himself beside her on the couch, the cushions shifting slightly under their weight.
They didn't speak. Just stared outside the wide window where the world looked quieter than it really was. The sky was washed in steel blue, clouds crawling over the city like shadows.
After a while, Sunday leaned against his shoulder, her weight hesitant at first, then heavier, like her body had finally given in.
Her breathing slowed.
Ares glanced sideways.
She's sleeping.
Her lashes cast faint shadows against her cheeks.
Sleep.
That was her only escape.
The only way out of this fucked-up world they'd all been born into.
And yet, he knew even even in her sleep, she wasn't safe.
He'd seen the way she jolted awake in the middle of the night, eyes wide with things she couldn't remember but felt too deeply. He'd heard the way her breath caught like she was drowning in silence. Her dreams didn't bring peace. They brought pieces of fractured memories from a life that didn't belong to her.
Ares shifted slightly so she could rest more comfortably against him. Careful not to wake her. Careful not to make this moment feel more fragile than it already was.
Her breath warmed the fabric of his sleeve. Her fingers were curled loosely at her side.
He looked out the window again, the silence wrapping around them like a blanket neither of them asked for.
If staying here was all he could do, then that's what he would do.
Even if she'd never say it aloud.
He stayed.