The alarm sounded at six-thirty, the same time as yesterday, but the sound felt different. It wasn't the start of the week anymore; it was the rhythm of the machine. Wednesday. The day after the crisis. The day where the immediate danger had passed, but the structural damage needed repair. I woke up before the second chirp, my hand moving instinctively to silence it. The room was gray, the light filtering through the curtains in thin, watery beams. Marcus was already up. I could hear the shower running in the ensuite, the water hitting the glass with a steady, rhythmic sound. It was a comforting sound. It meant the plumbing worked. It meant the house was secure. It meant life was continuing despite the breach in Leeds.
I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed. The floorboards w
