The house adjusted to them the way a body adjusted to new weight… slowly with its boards shifting in soft complaint as if waking after a long sleep.
Zubair listened to the creaks settle into a rhythm while he stood near the second story window, his arms folded loosely as he scanned the street outside.
The lamps along the road hummed against the dusk, their glow steady instead of flickering. Nothing slunk through the shadows. Nothing pressed at the edges of the yard. The air sat still in a way his instincts found strange, but not dangerous—just unfamiliar, like stepping into someone else's dream.
He cracked the window an inch, letting the night slide in.
Region T carried its own shape of emptiness, one that didn't smell like rot or ash or blood. It was the space between breaths rather than the space after destruction. It was weird… but also comforting.
Behind him, the sound of movement drew his focus back inside.
