Chapter 13: The Weight of Waiting
The morning sun had barely crested the eastern hills of the southern plains.
The house did not feel empty.
It felt paused.
Kai noticed it first in the sounds. The boards still creaked the same way underfoot, the wind still brushed the eaves, the kettle still whispered when it heated. Nothing was missing. And yet everything seemed to wait, as if the house itself were listening for something that had not arrived.
His mother moved through the morning without error.
She folded cloth. She measured grain. She corrected Anya gently when she spilled water. Each motion was precise, practiced to the point of muscle memory. There was no rush, no distraction. Too perfect. The kind of perfection that came from control, not ease.
Kai watched from the table, hands resting flat, posture straight the way she preferred. He had learned early that stillness made adults forget you were watching. He used it now.
She smoothed a length of fabric once. Paused. Smoothed it again.
The pause was small. Almost nothing.
Kai counted it anyway.
Anya sat across from him, legs swinging, absorbed in her own world. She hummed under her breath, a tuneless thing that drifted in and out. She did not notice the pause. She did not notice how their mother's eyes lingered on the window longer than necessary, or how her breath went shallow before she turned away.
"Anya."
"Yes?"
"Hands."
Anya sighed loudly but wiped her fingers on her apron anyway. "They're clean. Mostly."
Aveline didn't look up from the table. "Mostly is not clean."
Kai watched his mother fold the linen. The fabric was old, worn thin in places, but her hands moved over it with care. Fold. Press. Align. She paused.
Just long enough for Kai to notice.
Then she pressed the crease again.
Anya leaned across the table toward Kai. "She does that when she's thinking."
Aveline smiled. "I can hear you."
"You always can," Anya said, unfazed.
Kai said nothing. He kept his eyes on the table, fingers resting flat. The house was quiet in a way that made small sounds feel louder, the scrape of wood, the breath between words.
"How many days now?" Anya asked suddenly.
Aveline's hands stilled. Not for long.
"Enough days," she said.
Kai looked up. "Twelve."
Anya frowned. "That's a lot."
"It's not unusual," Aveline replied. Her voice was even. Too even. "Trade doesn't follow our schedules."
Kai nodded. He had heard that sentence before. He did not argue with it.
"Will he come back today?" Anya asked.
"No."
The answer came too quickly.
Anya's legs stopped swinging. "Tomorrow?"
"I don't know."
That was rarer.
Kai lifted his eyes to his mother. "You said he sent word."
"I did."
"When?"
"Recently."
"How?"
Aveline met his gaze. She didn't smile this time, but she didn't look away either. "Enough for me to know he's safe."
Kai waited.
She did not elaborate.
Anya shifted in her chair. "If he's safe, why can't he come home?"
"Because sometimes being safe means staying where you are."
That quieted Anya.
Kai felt the words settle in his chest, heavy and unfinished.
"Can we go to Lior's house?" Anya asked after a moment, softer now.
Aveline nodded. "Yes. Stay until the light turns."
Kai stood immediately. Too quickly.
His mother noticed. She always did.
"Kai," she said gently. "You don't have to rush."
He sat back down. "I wasn't."
She accepted the lie without comment.
Lior was already talking when they reached his house.
"Because if the flow changes here, then everything downstream adjusts whether you want it to or not."
"You're talking again," Tomas said. "We just got here."
"That's because thinking doesn't stop when you arrive," Lior replied. "It would be inefficient."
Anya ran straight past them. "Your mother made bread again?"
Lior brightened. "She did. It's slightly overbaked, which improves the texture."
"That's not how that works," Tomas said.
"It is if you know what you're doing."
Mila stepped between them. "We're not starting today like this."
Coren crouched by the path, holding something up to the light. "Look. The glass makes the sun split."
"No one asked," Tomas said.
"I wasn't answering," Coren replied cheerfully.
Kai stood back, listening to everyone's friendly banter.
Lior noticed him last. "You're quiet."
Kai shrugged. "You're loud."
"That's not an argument."
"It wasn't meant to be."
Lior studied him for a moment. "Your father's still gone?"
Kai nodded.
Tomas tilted his head. "That's bad?"
"It's longer," Kai said.
Mila spoke carefully. "Longer doesn't always mean worse."
Kai looked at her. "Sometimes it does."
No one contradicted him.
They moved inside. The noise filled the space quickly, voices overlapping, chairs scraping, someone laughing too loud. It was different from home. Less careful.
Lior spread his notes across the floor. "I've been mapping the southern routes again."
Kai stiffened.
"Not because of your father," Lior added quickly. "Just because they're inefficient."
Tomas snorted. "Everything's inefficient to you."
"Because everything could be better."
"Except people," Coren said. "People are fine."
"That's debatable," Lior replied.
Kai traced a line on the map without thinking. "This road narrows here."
"Yes," Lior said immediately. "And caravans slow. That's why"
"Stop," Kai said.
Lior blinked. "What?"
"Just stop."
Silence fell, brief and awkward.
Mila broke it. "We don't have to do maps."
Tomas grinned. "Yes we do. Maps are for conquering."
"No," Lior said. "Maps are for avoiding mistakes."
Kai pulled his hand back. "I don't want to look at roads."
Lior hesitated, then carefully gathered the papers. "Okay."
That mattered more than Kai expected.
They went outside instead. Tomas immediately declared a battlefield. Coren named invisible creatures. Mila tried to keep both from getting hurt.
Lior sat beside Kai on the steps.
"You think too much," Lior said.
Kai snorted softly. "You think more."
"Yes, but I like it."
Kai didn't respond.
"My father once said," Lior continued, "that if something hasn't happened yet, worrying won't make it arrive sooner."
Kai looked at him. "Did you believe that?"
"No," Lior admitted. "But i just listened anyway."
Kai almost smiled.
When the light began to fade, Anya tugged at his sleeve. "We have to go."
He nodded.
On the walk home, she asked, "Do you think he misses us?"
Kai didn't answer right away.
"Yes," he said finally. "I think he does."
"How do you know?"
Kai thought of Old Gray. Of the way his father always checked the straps twice.
"He doesn't leave things unfinished."
That satisfied her.
The house greeted them with quiet again.
Aveline looked up from her knitting. "Did you behave?"
Anya nodded enthusiastically. "Mostly."
Kai met his mother's eyes. She searched his face, not for trouble, but for something else.
"Did you eat?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Good."
She went back to her knitting. Her hands were steady.
Kai watched her for a long moment.
She did not look at the door.
That night, lying awake, Kai counted again.
Twelve days.
He wondered how many more her mother was counting too.