The kitchen air feels razor-thin, sliced by the hum of the fluorescent strip above and the creeping frost of the tile underfoot. Olivia’s back is braced hard against the counter—its edge gouging into the curve of her hips. Her fingers claw at the laminate, knuckles chalk-white, nails digging into her lower lip. Across the island, Adrian is a statue—shoulders squared, arms folded but not relaxed, eyes locked on the crumpled paper bag at center stage like some ominous token.
Silence bleeds between them.
The fridge clicks on, shivers, then goes dead. Olivia’s breath is shallow, barely stirring her chest. She tracks a dried coffee smear on the matte countertop, timing the moment: this is when the dam shatters, when someone finally cracks.
She steels herself for normal. “I’ve got a call in t
