By the third day, the house no longer carried the tension of illness.
It moved again.
Not quickly. Not fully returned to its usual pace. But enough that the difference could be felt in the way sound traveled through the rooms. Footsteps no longer hesitated in the hallway. Doors opened and closed without pause. Even the air felt lighter, no longer held in place by the careful weight of the past two nights.
Franz noticed it before he left the bedroom.
The bed behind him had already settled into a different arrangement.
Leo was awake.
The boy sat near the edge of the mattress, his tablet resting against his knees, his head lowered as he typed. The steady rhythm of tapping filled the space—a familiar sound that had been absent long enough to feel new again.
He didn't look up when Franz stood.
That, more than anything, marked the change.
