The first day Phillip truly disappeared was not dramatic.
He did not announce it. He did not write a directive. He simply did not show up in the yard at dawn, and he did not appear at the station by midmorning the way he had for months. He stayed inside the house, finished his tea while it was still hot, and sat at the table long enough to hear the rhythm of the foundry outside change without him.
Tools rang out anyway. A cart rolled past the window. Someone shouted a measurement. Someone else answered. The work continued in the same language it always had, only now the sentences did not pause to see if he was listening.
Henry came in with his coat already on, hair still damp from washing. He stopped when he saw Phillip sitting there.
"You're committed," Henry said.
Phillip looked up. "To what?"
"To not being a nuisance," Henry replied.
Phillip nodded once. "I'm trying."
