Tuesday arrived with rain.
Not the dramatic kind — not the storm of ten days ago that had taken the power and put them all in the candlelit sitting room with their mugs of tea and their first true conversation. This was the ordinary kind, the kind that arrived without announcement and settled in for the day with the patient indifference of something that had nowhere else to be. Grey sky, fine rain, the specific quality of a morning that had decided against brightness and was committed to its decision.
She dressed in the green jacket.
She came downstairs.
Aries was in the kitchen.
This was — she stood in the doorway for a moment and simply looked, because the thing she'd felt on the moor about familiar spaces sometimes being insufficient for what they were asked to contain was operatin
