Everything moved quickly after that.
Too quickly for it to feel controlled anymore.
The house that had felt secure an hour ago now felt exposed, like whatever barrier had been there was already broken. Voices carried through the hallway, sharper than before, orders being given, footsteps moving with purpose instead of precision.
Max didn’t hesitate.
“We’re leaving,” he said.
“Again?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.
“Yes.”
“That doesn’t feel like control.”
“It’s not,” he said. “It’s adjustment.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“It’s not meant to be.”
I let out a breath, grabbing my bag without arguing this time. Because arguing didn’t change anything. Because at this point, I knew how this worked.
Things happened.
He adapted.
And I followed.
But something about this felt
