Morning arrived with a pale, indifferent sky. Light filtered weakly through the curtains, painting soft lines across the marble floors. Eve moved through it quietly, her body heavy with exhaustion though her face betrayed nothing.
She swept the kitchen floor. She folded fresh laundry. She smoothed the sofa cushions into perfect symmetry. Every motion was precise, practiced, as though keeping the house immaculate might hold her own breaking pieces together.
By midmorning she had changed into her uniform: black slacks, a plain shirt, a clean apron folded under her arm. The fabric carried the faint scent of flour and garlic from countless shifts in the diner kitchen. She left through the side door, her footsteps soft on the stone path. Ryan was still upstairs. She didn’t expect him to notic
