They finished the small remaining tasks of the evening together.
Clara set the dough for the next day's bread while Atlas sliced the hard cheese they had brought back from the market.
The knife made clean cuts against the board. Eli walked the perimeter of the house and the clinic door, testing the edges of Raphael's protection the same way she checked a fence line after a storm.
She moved without hurry, boot soles quiet on the packed earth. Lara checked the threshold twice, then the clinic latch, and came back satisfied that the quiet ward would hold through the night.
Supper was simple. Fresh bread still warm from the oven, slices of the market cheese, the last of the garden greens, and a pot of the mild tea Clara preferred after long days.
They ate at the kitchen table the way they always did. Under the table the usual contacts continued. Lara's knee rested against Atlas's. Clara's foot touched his lightly. Eli's boot stayed solid and present beside his own.
