I found the remains of our arrangement. And learned that even ashes tell stories.
Morning came with clarity that felt more like resignation. Elara knew she needed to give Kairos an answer. Had promised herself she would. Today. Before she lost her nerve or overthought herself into another week of paralysis.
But first, she needed coffee. And space to think without Leo's constant presence or Kairos's careful, hopeful eyes tracking her every movement.
She slipped downstairs before either of them woke. The house was silent in that particular way of early morning—peaceful but heavy with possibility. Like the day was holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen next.
The kitchen light was already on. Strange. She was usually the first one up.
Elara pushed through the door and stopped dead.
Papers were spread across the kitchen table. Not just papers—burnt papers. Charred edges, brown with fire damage, some pieces barely legible.
