Nobody said *the night before.*
That phrase was not spoken. We were all operating in the register of people who understood that naming a thing could tighten its shape in ways that weren't useful. What we said instead was: *tonight.* What we meant was: whatever comes, comes. What we did was the ordinary things — dinner made in the kitchen, the table set with the casual ease of people who had been doing this long enough that it felt like a habit, which it was now, which still surprised me.
Kira sat at the table.
This was new — not her presence in the compound but her presence at the table, the shared meal version of being here. She had come from her room still slightly careful in the way of someone testing weight on a healing thing, and I had set a bowl in front of her with the same inten
