By morning the town had already started to rearrange itself around the week’s new story. Rumor, like weather, blew through and then settled into patterns that could be predicted: a few sharp storms, then a stretch of rain. People returned to their errands with new knowledge tucked under their arms, like an extra layer they didn’t ask for. For us, the sensation was more immediate—less a weather report and more a set of choices we had to make before the sun moved an inch.
Mark was up before dawn, as always, folding his jacket and checking the van like it was a ritual that would make the world kinder. He came back inside, coffee in hand, and found me still in bed, the last hours’ exhaustion written into my spine. His face, lit by the lazy sunlight, looked both raw and calm.
“They found a le
