The pull is quieter this morning, still there but no longer tugging insistently, and I take that as a small mercy as I button my jacket and braid my hair with practiced precision. My body feels steady, balanced in a way that tells me yesterday’s exertion didn’t set me back, and I take a moment to appreciate that before the knock at the door pulls my attention outward.
It’s not Adam. I know that immediately, not because of the bond, but because the presence on the other side of the door feels familiar in a different way, grounded in memory rather than awareness. When I open it and see Jack standing there, posture relaxed but eyes a little too hopeful, something in my chest tightens with a complicated mix of relief and discomfort.
“Sasha,” he says, smiling like he always has, easy and warm
