Lisa’s POV
I didn’t touch it right away. The tea had gone from steaming to lukewarm by the time I finally curled my fingers around the cup, as if holding it might anchor me. But it didn’t. The warmth seeped into my palms, and still I felt cold.
The toast sat there on the plate, edges dark and flaking. I couldn’t stop staring at it. It was almost absurd—something so small, so harmless. Bread. Burnt. Nothing more. And yet it sat like a question in front of me, one I couldn’t answer without stepping into a place I wasn’t sure I wanted to go.
The creak of a chair startled me. Heri had come back. She carried another plate—this time with her own toast, almost identical, except the edges weren’t as charred. The bread looked uneven, hand-cut, not perfect. But edible.
She set her plate down acr
