The morning after the Summit was quieter than any morning before it. There was no alarm clock. No urgent comms call. No seismic spike warning. Just the sound of the wind moving through the eaves and the distant crash of waves against the cliffs.
I woke naturally. The light filtering through the curtains was pale grey. Dawn. Ezra was still asleep beside me, his breathing deep and even. I did not move to wake him. I lay still and listened to the house.
It hummed. Not the sharp, urgent pulse of the grid during a crisis. But a low, steady thrum. Like a cat purring in sleep. The stones in the foundation were settled. The lock beneath the Court was secure. For now.
I slipped out of bed. The floorboards were cool. I pulled on a sweater and walked to the kitchen. The estate was empty. The boys
