The late afternoon inside the Rochefort residence carried the quiet rhythm that often settled over the house after lunch. The large windows of the main living room let long streams of sunlight stretch across the pale carpet, warming the floor in broad rectangles of gold that reached almost to the base of the far wall. Outside, the gardens remained still except for the faint movement of leaves stirred occasionally by the wind.
Inside, the living room had transformed into a temporary construction site. Sheets of paper lay scattered across the carpet, filled with drawings that looked more like colorful storms than recognizable shapes. A small plastic container of markers had been overturned near the coffee table, leaving bright caps rolling across the floor whenever someone moved.
