The longer they sit, the less the quiet feels gentle.
It begins to press.
Not externally.
Internally.
Laura becomes aware of her breathing.
Too slow.
Too shallow.
She adjusts it deliberately.
Inhale four.
Hold.
Exhale four.
Measured.
That helps.
For a moment.
Axel shifts beside her.
The sound of fabric moving.
Small.
Ordinary.
It feels amplified.
Everything feels amplified.
The wind in the grass.
The distant bark of a dog.
The rustle of leaves overhead.
Without rehearsal noise.
Without structure.
There is no buffer.
No distraction.
Just sensation.
Her hands rest in her lap.
Still.
Too still.
She realizes she has not moved in several minutes.
Her body feels heavier than it should.
Not tired.
Weighted.
As if gravity increased slightly.
She tries to locate the source of discomfort.
Is it the interview?
Unlikely.
She handles interviews well.
Is it Zane being back?
No.
His presence has not destabilized the trio.
Objectively, things are fine.
Then why does "fine" feel distant?
The thought slips in quietly:
If everything is stable,
why do I feel unsteady?
She does not like that question.
It lacks measurable variables.
Axel leans forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees.
Not speaking.
Just adjusting posture.
He is comfortable in silence.
Laura used to be.
Silence used to mean discipline.
Focus.
Concentration.
Now it feels like exposure.
Her chest tightens again.
Not sharp.
Sustained.
She presses her palm lightly against her sternum.
The sensation does not subside immediately.
That is new.
Her body has always responded predictably to control.
Correct breathing.
Correct posture.
Correct thought.
Now control is not correcting.
A group of teenagers pass by.
Laughing.
Loud.
Unstructured.
Laura watches them.
Their movement is chaotic.
Unfiltered.
They occupy space without apology.
She cannot remember ever occupying space that way.
The realization sits heavily.
Axel glances at her.
Brief.
Assessing.
She knows that look.
He is cataloguing something.
She looks away first.
The sky has shifted color.
Afternoon thinning toward evening.
She had not tracked the time.
That lands harder than it should.
Laura always tracks time.
Time is structure.
Structure is safety.
How long have they been here?
She does not know.
The unknown stretches.
Uncomfortable.
The quiet no longer feels like absence.
It feels like accumulation.
Like something gathering weight inside her ribs.
Not panic.
Not sadness.
Just pressure.
She becomes aware of how much effort it takes to remain upright.
To remain composed.
To remain Laura.
For a brief, disorienting second—
She imagines standing up and walking away alone.
Not home.
Not to rehearsal.
Not to any obligation.
Just walking until there is no one expecting precision from her.
The thought is so foreign she almost startles at herself.
She has never imagined absence before.
Only performance.
Axel shifts closer.
Not enough to touch.
Just enough that his presence feels anchored.
She registers it.
Does not comment.
Does not move away.
The heaviness remains.
But now it has witness.
And that, somehow, makes it harder to ignore.
The light dims further.
Laura stares at the ground between her shoes.
A small pebble rests there.
Imperfect.
Unpolished.
Entirely unremarkable.
And for reasons she cannot articulate—
She envies it.