SOFIA
The idea didn’t leave me alone.
It started after the outing. Not because of the café, or the silver sedan that had trailed me with such effortless precision, but because of what didn’t change when I returned. I had expected a shift, a tightening of the leash, perhaps a lecture on the "limits" I had tested but there was nothing. The house simply resumed its silent, rhythmic breathing.
Everything here was too structured. Too deliberate. Nothing felt reactive, not the rules, not the consequences, not even the threats. Every move Dante made felt like the execution of a long-established plan rather than a response to a new problem.
Which meant one thing. This didn't start when I walked into the bakery three weeks ago. It started long before that.
I didn’t know where to look at first
