The evening settled over the house the way it always did. Dishes stacked by the sink. The last of the stew scraped into a bowl for the dogs.
Clara banked the stove and set the dough to rise under a damp cloth. Lara checked the clinic latch, then walked the short path to the gate and tested the ward edge with two fingers the way she always did before dark.
Eli stayed in the kitchen longer than the rest of them. She dried the last of the cups with slow, steady motions, the cloth turning in her hands the same way it did every night.
Lara and Clara went upstairs. Their footsteps faded. Atlas started to follow. Eli's hand closed around his wrist before he reached the doorway.
"Stay."
Not a question. Not a request. Just the word, flat and certain.
