"I will," he said. "I promise."
I hung up.
Bekah, who had been studiously not-listening from the other end of the counter, set a fresh cup in front of me without being asked.
"That sounded final," she said.
"It was," I said. "In the good way."
She nodded.
I drank my tea.
---
On the third ordinary morning, the first truly ordinary morning — no pending filings, no threats identified, nothing requiring management from anyone — I woke up and lay still for a moment and listened.
Ryke's breathing. Even.
Ashveil outside the window. The morning sounds of a town that had its own rhythms and didn't adjust them for anyone.
Somewhere below, the specific sound of someone attempting to be quiet in a kitchen and not quite managing it. I'd identify who by the specific quality of the not-quite-m
