The quiet lasted exactly one day.
Zara noticed it ending the way you notice weather changing not a single moment but an accumulation of small signals, each one dismissible on its own, collectively impossible to ignore. The first was a missed call from the café manager at eight in the morning, which she didn’t see until after her shower. The second was Amara texting call me when you’re up without the usual string of context that Amara always provided whether you wanted it or not. The third was Noah’s message, brief and uncharacteristically sparse: something happened. campus security called me this morning. are you okay.
She called the café manager first.
“Zara.” His voice had the specific quality of someone delivering something they’d rather not. “I need you to come in. Not for a shift j
