The house had gone still for the night, settling into that particular quiet that comes when day surrenders fully to darkness. The lantern in the kitchen was out, its wick trimmed and glass cleaned for tomorrow's use. Mercy lay asleep at the foot of the stairs, his large frame sprawled across the bottom step in the way that had become his nightly custom—guardian even in sleep, positioned where he could hear any sound from above or below. The vineyard beyond the windows was cloaked in the deep silence of autumn, the vines heavy with the satisfaction of completed harvest, their leaves beginning to yellow and curl in preparation for winter's rest.
Lila and Regan sat together in the living room, the space around them transformed by shadows and the gentle play of dying light. The only illuminat
