The sun rose on a Wednesday, two days after the hearing. I woke up before the alarm, a habit forged in the fire of the last six months. My body expected the adrenaline spike, the immediate reach for the phone, the mental scan for threats. But when I reached for the device on the nightstand, the screen was dark. No urgent calls from David. No security alerts from Sarah. Just the soft glow of the lock screen showing the time: 6:00 AM.
I lay there for a moment, listening. The house was quiet. Not the heavy, monitored silence of the bunker, but the natural quiet of a home waking up. I could hear the furnace kicking on downstairs. I could hear a bird tapping against the windowpane. I could hear Marcus breathing beside me. It was a strange sensation. Peace felt unfamiliar, like a limb that had
