James noticed it before anyone else.
Not because he was sharper than the others—Clara doubted that—but because he was used to her orbiting him. As children, she'd chased his approval the way a wolf pup chased the leader's shadow. Now she moved like a planet that had broken from its sun, calm in her own trajectory.
No hovering near the study door. No glancing at him across the table for a nod. No trying to catch him alone to bargain for kindness.
She passed him in the hall with the same polite distance she gave to Mrs. Hale.
---
“Clara," he said one afternoon, stepping into her path outside the library. “You skipped the morning meeting."
“I met my quota for appearances this week," she replied without slowing.
“Quota?" He matched her pace. “What's that supposed to mean?"
She stopped
