Evelyn POV
The house didn't feel loud when we returned.
It felt… careful.
Not fragile exactly, but aware of itself, the way a place becomes when it's holding something precious and doesn't want to drop it. Liora kicked off her shoes by the door and stretched, rolling her shoulders like she'd been carrying more than just the weight of the day.
I stepped inside behind her—and that was when I heard it.
The soft scrape of a broom against the floor.
I froze.
Liora's mother stood in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back loosely, sweeping with slow, deliberate movements. She looked steadier than the night before, but not fully well. There was a slight stiffness to her posture, the kind you only noticed when you cared enough to look closely.
"Ma," Liora said immediately, dropping her bag. "What are you doing out here?"
Her mother turned, startled, then smiled. A gentle, apologetic smile.
"I was just trying to help a little," she said. "I don't like sitting idle."
