The night does not bring answers, only more space to think, and by the time morning edges in through the narrow window, I am already awake, lying still and listening to the packhouse breathe. The sounds are familiar now, footsteps changing shift, distant doors opening and closing, the low murmur of voices that never quite fades anymore, and beneath it all the bond hums steady and alert, like it has decided rest is a luxury we cannot afford.
I shower early, letting the water run longer than necessary, not for comfort but for clarity, because routine has become the one thing that keeps my thoughts from scattering. I brush my teeth, braid my hair tight, and dress with care, choosing movement over softness, because the day ahead feels like it will demand more than quiet endurance.
When I ste
