Morning came so fast. Emilia woke with Daniel’s small fist curled in her hair, a gesture she’d learned to read as safety. She lay there until his breath evened, until her pulse slowed from the nightmare that had been yesterday into something that pretended to be ordinary.
She sat up, pulled him into her lap, and watched his face for anything—scared eyes, scraped knees, the way his thumb had begun to find his mouth when he was frightened. He blinked at her, wide and trusting, and she felt a sharp stab of fear and relief rolled into one as she remembered the past few days.
“Morning, Mama,” he said, voice thin from crying.
“Morning, baby,” she breathed, and her voice sounded like it belonged to someone else.
She carried him to the narrow kitchen, where Alexander already stood, leaning ove
