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The deadbolt of your bedroom door turns with a definitive click, a sound that usually promises sanctuary but tonight only underscores the emptiness gnawing at you. A sliver of hallway light cuts a gold line across the dark carpet, but your gaze is fixed on the worn floorboards, searching their patterns for an answer to how things fractured so completely. You press your forehead to the cool wood and exhale, a long, unsteady release, the day's strain melting from your shoulders as you cling to the fragile idea that you've made it through another round of avoiding Lena. Your bag hits the floor with a muffled thump. You turn, leaning back against the door, and your entire body goes still. A phantom couldn't have unsettled you more deeply. She's there, on your bed, lounging with an ownership t…