The quiet did not last. It shifted. Not heavier. Just more searching.My mother’s thumb moved slowly over the back of my hand, the way it used to when I was little and sick in bed, as if her touch could keep me anchored in the room. Her fingers were warm. Mine were not. I could feel that difference like a thin wire pulled tight between us. My father cleared his throat first, and even that small sound seemed too loud in the new stillness.“We do not need details,” he said carefully, though his eyes betrayed that he did. “But we need to understand.”Evelyn nodded once, her expression gentle but steady. She sat straighter than usual with Nathaniel against her chest, as though the weight of him was not only comfort but responsibility. Her palm rested in the center of his back, feeling his small breaths as if each one proved something.“When did he take you?” she asked softly.The room stilled.I inhaled slowly, searching for something solid in the blur of memory. The hardest part was not
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