KAYE'S POVBy the third morning, time stopped feeling real.I woke before the knock again, staring at the same low ceiling while pain hummed through my body like a bad echo. My wrists still burned. The skin had not healed right. Silver never let wounds close the way they should. It sat in the blood and reminded you who was in control.I flexed my fingers. The marks were still there.Downstairs, the packhouse was quiet and heavy with sleep. Fog pressed against the windows, turning the world outside into nothing but gray shapes. Miriam was already moving when I stepped into the kitchen, her back stiff, her mouth set like she was chewing on anger instead of words.“You are late,” she snapped.“I am not,” I said carefully.She shot me a look sharp enough to cut. “Five AM means ready to work, not walking in at five.”I nodded. There was no point arguing. There never was.“Today you deep clean,” she said, pointing toward the far steel door. “The freezer. Every shelf. Every corner. I want it
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