The afternoon came in grey and stayed that way.
Francis sat by the front window and watched the tree line. Nothing moved out there except the wind shifting the upper branches in slow irregular patterns. No shapes. No light reflecting off equipment. No sound that didn't belong to the place. Just trees and snow and the flat winter sky pressing down on all of it.
He watched anyway.
Watching cost nothing and missing something cost everything. He'd learned that a long time ago, before the program, before any of this, in a different life that felt like it belonged to someone else now. He watched the tree line and drank cold coffee and let the minutes pass.
Behind him the farmhouse breathed.
Hale moved between rooms doing small maintenance tasks, tightening a hinge on a cabinet door, checkin
