She came through the door.
Both keys on the counter.
The photograph on the window ledge — three siblings on a bench, looking at something off to the left, before everything.
The city outside, both halves visible from the window she'd stood at a thousand times.
Davan asleep in the other room. The bond warm in that direction — the small specific golden frequency, settled, trusting, entirely itself.
She put her coat on the hook.
Put the empty coffee cup on the counter.
She stood in the kitchen.
---
He was behind her.
She turned.
He was at the kitchen table — not sitting, standing, his hands on the back of the chair. He'd been standing there since they came in. Looking at her.
"What?" she said.
"Nothing," he said.
"You're looking at me," she said.
"Yes," he said.
"Why?" she sai
