The discharge papers were still warm when Olivia stepped over the threshold of the Alpha house. The foyer smelled like lemon oil and lilies. Lilies again.
Lyle hovered by the door, having driven her from the hospital in a nondescript sedan and through the service entrance just as promised. “Text if you need anything," he said. “I'll be near."
“I'll be quick," Olivia said. “Thank you."
He bowed his head and faded like a shadow that knew when to move.
The living room was staged for a magazine: cushions fluffed, a vase centered, a folded blanket with no memory of use. Grace's laughter leaked faintly from the kitchen—an eager, bright thing that had not been present at the hospital. Olivia could hear another voice too, softer, practiced.
“Olivia?" Jacob's voice carried down the hall.
She
