As the sun set on the seventh day of their new life, the three of them sat in the living room. The fire was crackling, the tea was warm, and for the first time in her memory, Amara didn't feel the need to look over her shoulder.
The normalcy of the house was put to the test on a Tuesday evening over something as trivial as the television remote. It was a small, mundane friction that would have turned into a psychological war weeks ago, but now, it felt like a sitcom.
Amira, her red hair glowing under the lamplight, was lobbying hard for a gritty, fast-paced crime documentary. "It's educational, Amara. I need to see how the professional criminals do it so I can retire my amateur jersey."
Amara rolled her eyes, clutching the remote to her chest like a sacred relic. "Absolutely not. We are watching the period drama about the Victorian bakers. I need low stakes, high flour content, and zero stabbings."
