The eighth morning arrived with wind.
Not harsh, not cold—just enough to remind the walls they did not own the sky.
Lila noticed it first in the way the curtains breathed, lifting and settling like lungs learning a rhythm. She lay awake for a while, watching the movement, Alden warm and heavy against her chest. His breathing had grown deeper overnight, less cautious, like his body was finally beginning to believe it belonged here.
She believed it too.
That belief startled her.
She shifted carefully, adjusting her hold on him. Her abdomen protested with a dull ache, but it no longer frightened her. Pain, she was learning, could exist without being a threat. It could simply be information.
Alden stirred, a soft sound escaping him, then settled again.
“You’re getting louder,” she whisp
