The safe house was dim, the scent of pine and old stone settling in the bones of the walls. Outside, the night breathed against the windows in a hush ,wind moving through trees like whispered absolution.
Michael stood in the threshold, one hand on the door, the other still holding his breath.
Inside, Erica sat at the wooden table. She didn’t rise, didn’t rush. She only looked at him. Fully. Quietly. The way a person looks when they’ve let go of needing promises and just want the truth.
And there he was.
He stepped inside, slow, the door clicking shut behind him. The sound felt final and necessary.
Leo was asleep in the next room. A small silhouette under heavy quilts, surrounded by crayon whales and stars cut from construction paper. Michael had seen him for only a breath before Erica
