Aria’s POV
No one woke at first light.
For ten years first light meant blades, pairs, sweeps. Today it just meant light. Warm on my face through the quarry opening. Birds arguing in the treeline.
I lay there and listened until it felt rude to keep listening and not move.
When I came out, Ridah was already at the table. But she wasn’t sharpening. She was peeling potatoes. Slow. Uneven. Like she’d forgotten how.
“First time I’ve done this without counting portions,” she said without looking up. “Kept thinking someone would come back hungry and I’d have to explain.”
“No one’s coming back,” I said. Sat down. Helped. Badly.
Tav was on the ridge with his carving knife. Not making flowers today. Making a bowl. A real one. From quarry stone. “If the bowl’s gonna stay empty,” he said,
