The night passed without interruption.
That, more than anything, unsettled Eva.
Morning light crept into the bedroom in thin, pale bands, slipping past the edges of the curtains and settling across the floor like something cautious. Eva lay awake long before it arrived, her body still, her eyes open, listening to the house breathe.
No footsteps.
No forced quiet.
No sign that anyone had crossed the threshold again.
She turned her head slightly, studying the ceiling as if it might answer her questions.
“They’re waiting,” she murmured.
Waiting meant restraint.
Restraint meant calculation.
Eva rose slowly, letting her feet touch the floor one at a time. The cold grounded her. She stood in front of the mirror and examined her reflection with a frankness she had avoided for weeks.
Her
