I found him at the eastern fire pit.
Late — past midnight, the compound fully asleep, the fire burned down to coals that gave off more heat than light. He was sitting on the low stone bench nearest the fire, forearms on his knees, looking into the coals with the expression of someone who had been sitting there long enough that the thinking had run out and something quieter had taken its place.
He heard me coming — of course he did — but he didn't turn. He waited, the way he always waited, with that particular stillness that was not patience so much as the absence of urgency. Like he had learned not to reach for things because reaching had cost him.
I sat down on the bench beside him. Close enough that the space between us had a quality to it — charged, aware of itself. Not touching.
Th
