THE MORNING AFTER
Sera ate breakfast like someone rediscovering a language.
Not hungrily — that would have been simpler, more expected, easier to witness. She ate carefully. Each thing on the plate examined before it was touched. Toast. Eggs. The particular amber of tea in morning light. She looked at all of it the way you look at things you weren't sure you would see again — not with gratitude exactly, but with a kind of sharp, private attention that was almost scientific.
Kai sat across from her with his coffee and did not pretend not to notice.
"You're doing it too," Sera said, without looking up.
"Doing what?"
"Watching me like I might disappear." She picked up her toast. "The whole team does it. Every time someone leaves the room they look back once. Like they need to confirm I'm still there."
Kai said nothing.
"I'm not going anywhere," she said.
"I know."
