The last evening of the year arrived without urgency.
There was no sense of racing toward midnight, no pressure to turn the hours into something impressive or performative. The house moved at its own pace, settled and calm, holding a quiet that felt earned rather than arranged. It was the kind of stillness that came when nothing needed fixing and nothing needed defending.
Earlier that afternoon, the nanny had arrived with her usual unobtrusive efficiency, greeting Zana with a warmth that required no reassurance. Zana went willingly, delighted by coats and keys and the promise of somewhere familiar. Willow lingered at the door longer than she normally would have, smoothing the edge of Zana's sleeve, adjusting the tiny hat that never quite stayed in place, memorizing the sound of her laughter in the room.
"She will be perfectly fine," Lorrlyne said gently, lifting Zana into her arms with the confidence of someone who had never needed to ask for permission to love.
