The text came late at night, just as Olivia was finally settling into the kind of quiet that felt like relief. In these late hours, there was no one expecting anything from her, no one demanding her attention. It was just her and the comfortable silence. She was curled up on the couch, a steaming mug of tea perched on the edge of her coffee table and her case notes spread out beside it. The glow of the lamp softened the edges of her living room, creating a dome of safety she desperately needed.

The world moved around her relentlessly during the day—cases, obligations, the constant demand of being "on." But at night, when the apartment settled and she could take a step back, she found herself drawn to the routine of work. Sometimes, she'd think she should feel embarrassed, like she was somehow missing out by choosing to dive into case files or reports instead of unwinding the way most people did. It was as if she was the only one who found solace in productivity, who found a sense of achievement in the paperwork that would have overwhelmed anyone else. But the truth was, it helped. She could pour her energy into something that didn't demand emotional investment beyond what she was willing to give. The structure of it gave her a sense of purpose, of calm.

Her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen without thinking, expecting a reminder or a news alert. Instead, she saw Daniel's name.

Her stomach twisted as she read the message:

I get it. You're mad. But we should talk. You owe me that much.

The words burned in her chest, the casual manipulation so familiar it felt like an old wound reopening. Owe him? She stared at the screen, her thumb hovering over the keyboard. A dozen responses formed in her mind, none of them satisfying.

Then, another text:

I've been patient, but I won't wait forever.

Heart hammering, she swiped to his contact and hit "Block."

It should have felt decisive, like closing a door and locking it tight. But her hand lingered on the phone, her chest heavy with unease. The last time she had seen him, he'd been angry—his mask of charm cracking wide open. Blocking his number wouldn't erase that memory.

She set the phone down and picked up her tea, trying to steady herself. But the warmth of the cup couldn't chase the chill that had settled in her chest.

Sunday mornings were supposed to be hers. It was the one time she could shake off everything—the cases, the conversations, even the lingering tension she felt whenever she thought of Elliot—and just run. The river trail was quiet at this hour, the cool breeze brushing against her skin as she kept her pace steady. But lately, even running wasn't the escape it used to be. The rhythm of her feet on the pavement couldn't drown out the echo of that evening weeks ago—the night Elliot had driven her home after everything with Daniel had unraveled.

She could still feel the way he'd looked at her, his eyes scanning her like he was cataloging every mark Daniel had left behind. And yet, he hadn't said much. He hadn't pressed her to talk about what had happened, hadn't filled the silence with platitudes. He'd simply been there. It was more than she'd ever thought to ask for, more than she'd known how to handle.

What had it meant? That question had lingered at the edges of her mind ever since, teasing her in quiet moments when she least expected it. She'd replayed his expression, his voice, the way he'd lingered just a moment too long—but surely, it was nothing. It had to be.

The very idea made her stomach twist with unease. Elliot was married, and the last thing Olivia would ever want was to interfere in someone else's marriage. That wasn't who she was, and besides, Elliot was nothing if not dependable, loyal. He would never, ever betray his vows—not in action, not even in thought.

It couldn't possibly be anything, she told herself firmly, dismissing the spark of emotion she thought she'd felt. She was just tired, vulnerable, and maybe reading too much into something innocent. The notion that it might be more was almost laughable, and yet, the embarrassment of even considering it left her cheeks burning.

She didn't dare bring it up. What would she even say? What if it was all in her head—a projection of her own fleeting, misplaced feelings? How humiliating it would be to ask for clarity only to find she'd been imagining it, exposing herself in a way she couldn't take back.

So now, things between them had settled into a strange, uncomfortable normalcy. They were polite, professional—cool in a way that wasn't unkind, but not quite what they used to be either. Elliot still checked in on her, but it was always under the guise of work. It felt like they were skirting around something.

Olivia tried to push the thoughts aside, focusing on the trail ahead. She couldn't afford to get caught up in what-ifs or maybes, not now. But as her feet pounded the pavement, her mind returned to Elliot again and again, stubborn and unrelenting, like a stone she couldn't shake from her shoe.

She didn't see him at first. Her focus was on the path, the rhythm of her feet against the pavement, the music in her ears. But then, out of the corner of her eye, a figure came into view.

She slowed instinctively, pulling out one earbud as she glanced toward the lamppost. Her heart stuttered.

Daniel was standing there, his hands in his pockets, his posture casual but deliberate. It was the kind of posture that might have seemed relaxed at first glance, but there was an edge to it, a stillness that didn't match the flow of the morning around them. He wasn't dressed for a morning jog or an impromptu walk along the trail—not in dark jeans and a jacket zipped halfway up, the kind of outfit that spoke of purpose rather than leisure. She couldn't tell if the jacket was for warmth or for appearances, but the overall effect was unsettling, like he'd staged this moment.

Olivia's breath hitched as her thoughts scrambled. She considered turning around, pretending she hadn't seen him. Maybe she could circle back, take another path, or even dart into the trees until he was gone. But then his head turned, his eyes finding hers with unnerving precision. He didn't wave, didn't call out to her. He just watched. His face was unreadable, but his presence was unmistakable, cutting through the quiet serenity of the trail like an unexpected gust of wind.

Her feet kept moving, even as her mind screamed at her to do something—anything—other than what she was doing. She straightened her back, forcing herself to act like she hadn't noticed the tension winding tighter in her chest. Her pace quickened, each step measured but firm as she passed him. She didn't glance back, though every fibre of her being wanted to confirm that he wasn't following.

The trail stretched ahead, but the air around her felt suffocating. Every sound around her felt amplified, her senses heightened. Her body thrummed with the instinct to break into a sprint, to put as much distance between them as she could, and fast. But she held herself together, barely. When she finally reached her apartment, her hands were trembling as she unlocked the door. Her pulse was hammering.

Once inside, Olivia leaned against the door, her legs unsteady beneath her. The solid click of the lock didn't bring the relief she'd hoped for; her hands stayed on the knob as though anchoring herself to something tangible. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, the air in her apartment suddenly feeling too thick, too warm.

Her running shoes scuffed against the hardwood as she pushed off the door, pacing the short length of her entryway. She could still see Daniel in her mind—his stillness, his eyes pinning her to the path as surely as if he'd grabbed her arm.

Why didn't I confront him? Why didn't I do something? She swallowed hard, shame prickling at the edges of her fear. She'd jogged past him like a stranger on the street, like someone who didn't matter to her, when the truth was he'd once been central to her life. Central, and now corrosive.

She paused, her gaze drifting toward the small mirror above the console table near the door. Her reflection stared back, pale and strained, her hair damp with sweat from the run. Or maybe it was from the way her heart had been pounding since she'd seen him.

She pulled out her phone, pausing as her fingers hovered over the screen, torn by the urge to call Elliot. He had told her—more than once—to keep him informed. But the memory of his face, of the way his hand had brushed her wrist with such quiet care, lingered stubbornly in her mind. He had already done so much for her, far more than she felt she deserved, and this strange, unspoken tension between them only made things more complicated.

Instead, she unlocked the phone and opened her messages. Daniel's name wasn't there, not anymore. She'd blocked him a week ago. Yet the paranoia crept in, making her second-guess her actions. She checked again—yes, he was still blocked.

Her fingers hovered over the screen as a new thought surfaced. What if he finds another way? What if this doesn't stop? She knew the pattern of men like Daniel, had seen it in the cases they worked, in the victims who'd trusted them. But knowing it and living it were two different things.

She let the phone fall onto the table, the clatter echoing too loud in the silent apartment. She couldn't bring herself to call Elliot, but she also couldn't ignore this.

Her pacing resumed, her thoughts circling like vultures. Every option felt flawed—confrontation, avoidance, even going to the precinct. A bitter laugh escaped her lips. If she walked into SVU with this, Elliot would know before she even sat down. He always seemed to know.

She sank onto the couch, her head falling into her hands. Anger began to bubble up, cutting through the fear. Why does he still have this power over me? Why can't I just— She cut off the thought, pressing her palms into her eyes as though she could block out everything.

Moments passed before she finally sat up, resolve hardening in her chest. She couldn't afford to ignore this, but she'd need to think carefully about her next steps.

Elliot sat at his desk, staring at the open case file in front of him. The words blurred together, his mind unwilling to cooperate. His attention kept drifting, landing on the Olivia. A few weeks ago, she'd seemed...fine. Better, even. Not quite her old self, but closer to it. The sharpness in her eyes had returned, and her voice carried the confidence he'd always relied on. For a while, he'd let himself believe she'd turned a corner, that whatever she was dealing with after Daniel had started to settle.

But the past week told a different story.

He'd noticed the way her hands trembled just slightly when she picked up her coffee cup, the way she kept glancing over her shoulder when they walked out of the precinct together. She was quieter, too, her responses clipped when he asked how she was doing.

She's shutting me out again.

The thought twisted in his chest, equal parts frustration and worry. He didn't understand it—not after everything. Hadn't he proven he'd be there for her? That she didn't have to carry this alone? He thought they'd reached a place where she'd trust him with anything. But now, she was retreating, and it made him feel...off-balance.

He leaned back in his chair, his hand dragging down his face. His mind kept replaying moments that didn't add up—the way she'd hesitated when he'd asked if she was okay leaving work late the other night, how she'd brushed him off when he'd joked about her Sunday morning jog.

More than once, he'd caught her staring into space, her jaw tight, her expression unreadable. It was a look he recognized, one he'd seen in her during tougher cases, during times when the weight of her emotions threatened to break through her composure. She looked haunted.

He couldn't shake the feeling that something else was going on. Something she wasn't telling him.

And that stung.

A sharp knock at the edge of his desk broke his thoughts. Fin stood there, eyebrow raised. "You good?"

Elliot nodded, clearing his throat. "Yeah. Distracted."

Fin gave him a long look, then shrugged. "If you say so. I'm heading to the lineup room—got a perp to ID. You coming?"

"In a minute," Elliot said, waving him off.

When Fin disappeared, Elliot's gaze drifted to his phone. He picked it up, his thumb hovering over Olivia's contact. He'd been tempted more than once to call her, to press her. But something held him back.

Maybe it was the way she'd avoided his eyes the last time they'd talked about Daniel. Or maybe it was his own reluctance to push too hard, afraid of driving her further away.

He leaned forward, elbows on his desk, the phone still in his hand. "What are you keeping from me, Liv?" he muttered under his breath.

A quiet, nagging voice in the back of his mind supplied the answer: She doesn't want to burden you.

But that wasn't right. That couldn't be right. He'd been by her side through worse—hell, they'd been through everything together. So why did it feel like there was a wall between them now?

He exhaled sharply, setting the phone down. He couldn't force her to talk, but he wasn't going to let this drop either. Whatever was going on, he'd figure it out.

Olivia pushed her cart down the narrow aisles, her mind elsewhere. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead as she tossed a loaf of bread into the basket. She checked the list on her phone absentmindedly, adding a few more items: yogurt, spinach, bananas, toilet paper. The mundane, familiar process of shopping usually gave her some respite, a brief break from the more pressing matters of the day. Even if it meant leaving work a little early on a Friday evening to get her groceries done, Olivia didn't mind. It said something about her life—or, rather, the lack of one—that she was here at this hour, fitting simple errands into the cracks of her schedule. Most people had free time for hobbies or spontaneous plans, but for Olivia, it was these small, ordinary tasks that filled in the gaps where her life should have been.

Her thoughts drifted back to an interrogation she'd conducted earlier—a frustrating back-and-forth with a witness who refused to cooperate. She'd been patient, methodical, but in the end, the case was still at a standstill. It was maddening. She let out a quiet breath, pushing the cart forward with a little more force than necessary.

And then there was Elliot. Things still felt...off. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but there was a tension in the air whenever they were together, a subtle strain that hadn't been there before. Once again, she thought back to that night at her apartment—the way his hand had brushed against her wrist. The electricity of that touch had left her breathless, and she was certain he'd felt it too. But ever since then, the usual easy rhythm between them seemed to have shifted. Conversations that once flowed effortlessly now felt more measured, like they were both holding back.

She hadn't told him about seeing Daniel while jogging, hadn't wanted to burden him with her fear, to let him see how much it unsettled her. She told herself it was nothing—just a coincidence, a random encounter. But deep down, she knew better. The way Daniel had looked at her, the smirk that followed her like a shadow—it wasn't nothing. Yet, she couldn't bring herself to share that with Elliot. She couldn't tell him how she couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, hunted, even when she was safely behind her apartment door.

But even if she hadn't said it, she felt like Elliot sensed her fear. The way he had looked at her today, his gaze lingering just a fraction too long, eyes shadowed with something more than concern made her think that maybe, despite her silence, he knew.

She didn't want to push him away, but drawing him closer felt dangerous in an inexplicable way. She wasn't sure how much she could share, how much of herself she could give without shattering something between them. With Elliot, everything felt more intense than it had ever been before. In some ways, that terrified her—because the last thing she wanted was to be caught in Hurricane Elliot. There was no controlling it, she knew. And yet, a part of her longed for him to see her, all of her, and offer something in return.

Olivia's hand grazed the ripening bananas on the shelf, and she plucked a bunch with automatic efficiency. But as she turned the corner, a sudden prickle of unease crawled down her spine.

She stopped mid-step. Her breath caught.

There, standing by the apples, was Daniel.

For a split second, she thought it was just her mind playing tricks, some lingering paranoia from the past few weeks. But then he looked up, and their eyes met. A twisted smirk tugged at his lips, one that sent a cold ripple through her chest.

"Olivia," he said, his voice smooth, mocking.

Her body went rigid, her heart skipping a beat. She gripped the cart tighter, the plastic handle cutting into her palms as her knuckles whitened. It took all her willpower to keep herself composed.

"What are you doing here?" she forced out, trying to sound casual, but the words came out sharper than she intended.

"Shopping," he replied easily, raising an apple in his hand as if it was the most innocent thing in the world. "What else would I be doing?"

She wasn't sure if she should run or stand her ground. Her mind raced, and for a moment, all she could hear was the rush of blood in her ears. This was not a coincidence. She knew that now.

"Stay away from me, Daniel," she said, her voice firm, her throat tight.

His smirk only deepened, the malicious gleam in his eyes unwavering. "I'm not doing anything, Liv. Just living my life. You should try it sometime."

The casual cruelty in his tone made her stomach twist. He was enjoying this—enjoying the power he held over her, the way she couldn't even feel safe in the most mundane of places.

Without another word, she turned her cart abruptly and headed toward the checkout. Her pulse was pounding, her breath shallow. Every part of her screamed to get out of there, to put as much distance between herself and him as possible. But she kept her head down, her eyes trained on the floor, trying not to show how much he rattled her.

The checkout line seemed to drag on forever, the beep of the scanner more an annoyance than a signal that the ordeal was almost over. Olivia didn't look up until the clerk handed her the bags. She barely registered the total. She just wanted out.

As she left the store, the cold air hit her like a wave. The world had shifted again.

And she forgot toilet paper.

The house was alive with the kind of domestic comfort Elliot had come to cherish. Even the chaos of homework and family schedules felt grounding. He had spent the better part of the evening helping to get dinner on the table and organizing things for tomorrow—a typical Sunday night. Now, as Eli filled in the final answers on his worksheet, Elliot glanced at the clock again.

"Alright, bud. You've done enough for tonight. You can finish this up tomorrow if you need to," Elliot said, sitting back in his chair.

His son looked up, a relieved grin spreading across his face. "Thanks, Dad."

Elliot tousled his hair, the familiar routine of fatherhood comforting in its simplicity. But even as Eli trotted up to his room, Elliot's thoughts drifted back to Olivia.

He'd been trying to ignore it all day—the unease, the concern gnawing at him. The last few weeks had felt off, but what did he really have to go on? He couldn't say for sure if it was Daniel or something else, and maybe that uncertainty was what frustrated him the most.

The thing was, he didn't know if he had the right to ask. What right did he have to probe into her personal life when she hadn't volunteered any details? She was a professional, damn good at her job, and there was nothing about her work ethic that raised any flags. He'd seen how committed she was, how far she went to protect people—how much she sacrificed. The work always came first, even if she buried her own issues in the process.

Maybe that was it. Maybe Olivia didn't want to burden him, didn't want to show any weakness. She was a fortress, and he respected that. She kept things close to the chest. He knew that from experience. But that wasn't the problem. The problem was that it wasn't just about work anymore. And that shift—how things had changed between them, how they'd felt that tension after the night at her apartment—left him in this strange place, unsure how to navigate the space between them.

He thought about the Gitano case. The guilt still lingered, a sharp reminder of how far he'd gone to twist his own feelings in a way that allowed him to protect his own pride. He had accused Olivia—without saying it directly—that she wasn't the partner he needed, that she was prioritizing his safety over the job. That was a lie, and he knew it now, more than ever. He hadn't been able to face his own emotions, his own fear, and in the end, it hurt her. He had alienated her, and the consequences of that lingered far longer than he ever intended. He'd learned that lesson the hard way.

He couldn't do that again. He couldn't make Olivia feel like she wasn't enough, like she wasn't doing the right thing, when he knew better. He had no right to accuse her of anything when she was doing everything she could to hold it all together. But at the same time, he was left with nothing but the suspicion that there was something—something she wasn't telling him. How could he ask her without overstepping? How could he be a friend, a colleague, and still respect her privacy? He knew it was a delicate line, one he'd crossed before. He had to protect her, but how? Elliot knew Olivia wouldn't open up easily, but he also knew she was lonely. He wanted to be the one to help her, but he didn't know how to ask without making her feel like she was somehow failing. She wasn't. But if he didn't ask, how could he be sure?

She had always kept things to herself, but this felt different. She wasn't just closing herself off in the way she had when they were deep in the trenches of a case. This felt like withdrawal, like something was festering. He couldn't tell if it was Daniel—or if it was something else entirely—but either way, he needed to find out.