Breakfast moved the way every meal in the house moved: without hurry, without empty space.
Clara finished her coffee and rose first, collecting her satchel for the clinic. She checked the strap twice, the same way she always did, then looked at Atlas across the table.
"I'll be back by mid-afternoon unless someone breaks a bone on the path again," she said. "Try not to need me before then."
Eli cleared the bowls and pointed Atlas toward the garden gloves still hanging on their nail. "The beans. Before the sun gets mean."
Lara remained at the table a moment longer, ledger open, pen resting against the page. Her eyes followed Atlas as he stood. She did not speak. She did not need to. The look was enough.
Atlas nodded and followed Eli outside. The morning air still held the cool of the river. They worked the rows in companionable silence, thinning the plants that had crowded each other overnight. Sweat gathered at the back of his neck. Dirt collected under his nails.
