By the time we finally get back to the packhouse the night has settled into that brittle, uneasy stillness that always comes after something bad, like the world itself is holding its breath and waiting to see what breaks next. Axel’s hand stays at my back as we walk inside, steady and warm, while Atticus moves just ahead of us, his posture tight and alert in a way that tells me he already feels it too.
Something is wrong.
Nurse Amy is waiting just inside the entryway, her hands clasped loosely in front of her, her shoulders squared like she’s bracing herself for a conversation she doesn’t want to have. She looks tired in a way that has nothing to do with lack of sleep, the kind of exhaustion that comes from knowing the answer and wishing desperately that it could be different.
The momen
