I was halfway through walking up the staircase when I noticed how steady the house had become.
Not the peaceful kind of stillness—the kind that presses against your ears, makes you aware of every creak, every breath. The sea outside was louder than usual, waves crashing with restless insistence, as if the shore itself was uneasy.
Nathan had been quiet all morning.
He sat at the far end of the living room, a book unopened in his hands, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular. I tried not to stare, but every few seconds, my eyes drifted back to him—watching the way his shoulders remained tense, the way his jaw tightened whenever a car passed somewhere down the road.
I told myself I was imagining things.
I was on vacation. I had promised myself I wouldn’t overthink, wouldn’t chase shadow
