Atlas woke to the sound of the river and the familiar weight of three bodies sharing the bed. Lara's hand rested near his on the sheet. Clara's breath moved steadily against his skin.
Eli's arm lay draped across them, solid and unmoving, the same quiet claim it had become over the weeks. Soft light tracked its usual path across the floorboards.
No one rushed. They rose in the same loose stages as always—stretching, finding clothes, exchanging the small touches that no longer needed explanation.
Lara's fingers brushed Atlas's wrist as she passed. Clara leaned her forehead briefly against his shoulder. Eli simply nodded once, already half-focused on the day.
Downstairs, coffee was already brewing. Lara had set it going while the rest of them were still finding their boots. The kitchen smelled of ground beans and the last of yesterday's bread.
