Morning arrived quietly.
Too quietly.
The kind of quiet that feels wrong.
The kind that makes you wait for something bad to happen.
I stood outside the packhouse, watching the sun rise over Beaumont.
Golden light spilled across rooftops and dirt paths.
The village was awake.
But different.
People moved carefully.
Conversations stayed low.
Laughter was absent.
Fear had settled into the bones of Beaumont.
And fear was difficult to remove once it found a home.
The letter from my mother rested safely inside my room.
Folded.
Protected.
Treasured.
I'd read it three times before dawn.
Each time the words felt different.
Each time they settled deeper inside me.
Choose love.
The message should have felt impossible.
Not after everything.
Not after the lies.
Not after Malric.
