The morning sun crept slowly over the rooftops, spilling light across the stone courtyard of the pack house. The air was cool, touched with the smell of dew and apple leaves carried from the far end of the orchard.
Liora bent low, sweeping the courtyard with quiet, measured strokes. The broom scratched gently against the stone. Dust rose and shimmered in the sunlight.
Beside her, Elira hummed softly under her breath, a habit she used to drown the silence that hung between them like mist. She paused, glanced at Liora, then back to her broom.
"You've been sweeping the same corner for ten minutes," Elira said with a weak smile. "You'll dig a hole if you keep at it."
Liora didn't answer. Her gaze stayed on the ground, her hands moving automatically.
Elira sighed, lowering her broom. "You haven't spoken a full sentence since dawn."
"Because there's nothing to say," Liora murmured without looking up.
Elira frowned. "There's always something to say."
