Silence hangs after my offer to leave.
It stretches thin.
Fragile.
Lila's father's jaw tightens, like whatever he wants to say won't come clean. Kai stands rigid beside him. Lila hasn't moved.
And the old man —
The old man is watching her.
Not me.
Her.
Then he exhales, slow and heavy. A sound that feels older than the house itself.
The old man grips his cane and pushes himself to his feet. It's slow — but when he stands, the space seems to settle around him, like it remembers him upright.
"Your great-grandmother," he says.
The words land softly.
But they don't feel small.
Lila blinks. "...what?"
"She was young," he continues. "Barely older than you are now. It was the late forties. Maybe '49. '50." His gaze drifts, not unfocused — just far away. "War had just ended, but th
