The evening settles slowly, the packhouse easing into its quieter rhythms with a patience that feels earned rather than enforced, and I am sitting on the edge of my bed brushing my hair when I feel the bond shift sharply enough to make my hand still. It is not pain or alarm, but intensity, a sudden narrowing of awareness that draws my attention outward before my thoughts can catch up.
Adam is close.
Not approaching yet, but close enough that the awareness sharpens into something almost physical, like pressure behind my sternum, and I set the brush down carefully, breathing through the sensation instead of reacting to it. The bond hums low and insistent, stronger than it has been before, and for a moment I wonder if this is what it feels like when restraint begins to fray.
There is a kno
