The envelope looks harmless.
Cream paper. Clean edges. Damian’s legal firm embossed in the corner like a seal of reassurance, the kind meant to steady clients before they read words that might do the opposite. It sits on the kitchen counter where the morning light touches it, as if light alone could soften what waits inside. As if illumination could make consequence gentler.
Damian reads it standing up.
I watch his face change line by line, the way I’ve learned to since the warehouse. There is no drama in it. No sudden flare of anger or visible panic. Just a quiet recalibration, like something internal has shifted its weight and settled somewhere heavier.
The shift is subtle. A tightening around his mouth. A stillness in his shoulders that tells me this is not a problem he can outmaneu
