The house was quiet when they returned, the kind of hush that made everything feel heavier. Rory dropped her keys onto the side table, fingers lingering a beat too long. Jim hesitated just past the doorway, shifting his weight like he wasn’t sure if he should step further inside or turn back around. Six weeks. That was all that was left. Six more weeks of existing in this strange, fragile limbo.
Sunny, never one for heavy silences, kicked off her boots and made a beeline for the kitchen. “I need food. You need food. And since we both know Jim isn’t allowed near knives after last time, I guess it’s up to me.”
Jim rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. He still bore a faint scar from that ridiculous attempt at slicing an avocado two months ago.
Rory hummed, barely listening, her fingers tracin
