Chapter 61: After the Noise

Lisa’s POV

The town hall ended with a wave of voices—arguments, demands, backhanded compliments, and the suffocating buzz of people who needed answers I wasn’t yet sure I could give. By the time the council dismissed everyone, my bones hummed with exhaustion.

I stepped outside before anyone else could catch me for “just one more comment.” The moment the door closed behind me, a sharp, freezing wind slapped across my cheeks. My breath spilled out in pale clouds, fading into the dark Ottawa night. Snow drifted lightly, soft enough to look peaceful, too cold to feel like anything but needles against my skin.

I hugged my coat tighter around my body and finally let my shoulders sag.

“God… finally.”

The street was empty except for a few distant headlights. I felt alone—but not lonely. Just tired. The kind of tiredness that lived deep in my chest, a mixture of anger, stubbornness, and fear. The kind I had been carrying since everything shattered.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I almost ignored it. I expected it to be another board member, or my father, or someone wanting a statement. But the name on the screen made my breath catch.

Leo.

For a second, I stared at the name like it might bite. He didn’t call. He ordered. He texted. He appeared. He stormed into rooms. But he didn’t call.

And definitely not at night.

I hesitated, then answered.

“Hello?”

His voice came through low, rough—like he had just woken from sleep or from one of those nightmares he never talked about.

“Where are you?” he asked.

A normal question from someone else. But from him… it sounded different. Not demanding. Not controlling.

Just… worried.

“I’m outside the town hall,” I murmured, breath fogging the air. “I just finished. I needed some air.”

There was a pause—one second, two, three.

“You sound tired.” His voice deepened. “Too tired. Even for you.”

A soft laugh escaped me, surprising even myself.

“Wow. Thank you, I guess?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he muttered. Another pause. “Actually, yes I did. You push too hard, Lisa.”

“You push harder.”

“That’s different.”

“It’s not,” I whispered.

Silence again—but it wasn’t heavy. It was the kind that wrapped around us, like something soft. Something I wasn’t used to.

I leaned back against the building, staring at the orange streetlight glowing against the falling snow.

“Why did you call?” I asked quietly.

A breath. Deep. Slow. Controlled.

“I wanted to know if you were safe.”

Safe.

That word hit deeper than I expected.

“I’m fine,” I said, even though fine wasn’t the right word. I wasn’t fine. I was functioning. Surviving. Pretending.

“You don’t sound fine,” he added.

Something warm spread through my chest, unwelcome but impossible to push away. Leo rarely spoke gently. But when he did… it softened things I didn’t know were still soft.

“What happened in there?” he asked.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” I replied. “Just politics. Just pressure.”

I exhaled slowly. “Just noise.”

“And now it’s quiet,” he said.

“Yes.”

“After noise, quiet always feels… heavier.”

I swallowed. He got it. Somehow, he always got it.

“Did they attack you again?” he asked sharply.

“Not physically. Just the usual passive-aggressive comments. ‘Too young to lead.’ ‘Too emotional.’ ‘Too inexperienced to handle mergers.’”

“And yet you still stood in front of all of them,” he said. “Alone.”

The way he said alone made something inside my chest twist. I hugged my coat tighter.

“I’m used to being alone.”

“No,” he said firmly, almost angrily. “You shouldn’t be.”

It was shocking how quickly his voice shifted from soft to sharp, like he hated the idea of me standing alone in the cold, fighting everything by myself.

A tiny smile touched my lips. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“I’m not deciding,” he said. “I’m saying it.”

That made no sense. But somehow, it made perfect sense—Leo logic.

I tilted my head back and watched a snowflake land on my eyelashes, melting instantly.

“Why are you being nice?” I asked.

“I’m not nice.”

“You are right now.”

“No,” he said. “I’m… concerned.”

“That’s worse.”

A small exhale—almost a laugh. Almost.

“Lisa.”

“Hm?”

“You sounded shaken.”

“I’m not shaken,” I lied.

He hummed — that low, knowing sound he always made when he caught me lying. “Your voice trembles at the end of your sentences when you’re overwhelmed.”

I blinked. I didn’t even know that about myself.

“You pay attention to that?”

“There are a lot of things about you I pay attention to,” he said quietly. “Whether I want to or not.”

My breath faltered.

He shouldn’t say things like that.

Not when I was alone.

Not when the night was this cold.

Not when I was this tired.

Not when a small, fragile part of me wanted to lean on something… someone.

“Leo…” My voice lowered. “You don’t have to—”

“Don’t tell me what I have to do.”

And there he was. The arrogance. The control. The edge.

Except tonight, it wasn’t sharp.

It wasn’t cutting.

It felt like… protection.

“I know you want revenge,” he said quietly. “I know you think you have to carry it alone. But even warriors rest, Lisa. You’re not a machine.”

“No,” I whispered. “I’m something else now.”

“You’re still human,” he replied. “Even if you try to convince yourself otherwise.”

My throat tightened.

For a moment, I didn’t say anything. Just listened to his breathing through the speaker—steady, grounding.

“Leo,” I finally said, “why did you really call? The truth.”

This time, he didn’t hesitate.

“Because I heard your voice during the meeting,” he admitted. “And something in it scared me.”

“Scared you?” I laughed softly. “How could I possibly scare you?”

“Because it sounded like you were holding the world in your hands,” he said. “And you didn’t know it was heavy.”

I pressed my lips together, holding the phone tighter.

“I’m not used to people worrying about me,” I whispered.

“Well,” he said, “get used to it.”

My chest ached in a way that wasn’t painful—just overwhelming.

We didn’t speak for a long moment. The silence stretched warm, comfortable, and intimate. Not romantic. Not yet.

Just two wounded people, breathing on opposite ends of a phone line, finding something like peace.

“Are you heading home?” he eventually asked.

“Soon.”

“Lisa,” he said, voice lower now, “call me when you get in.”

“That sounds like an order.”

“It is,” he replied. “Take it.”

I didn’t want to smile. But I did.

“Fine,” I whispered.

The wind blew harder, scattering snow around me like feathers. I looked up at the sky, eyes stinging—not from the cold, but from something I couldn’t name.

“Goodnight, Leo.”

Another pause.

“Goodnight, Lisa.”

The call ended, but the warmth of his voice lingered longer than I wanted to admit.

For the first time in a long time, the quiet after the noise didn’t feel lonely.

It felt… gentle.

And dangerously comforting.