Held Light, Held Close
Steam rose almost immediately, the building impatient with winter.
Celeste leaned her hip against the counter and closed her eyes, letting the cool laminate press against her bone. The ache behind her eyes pulsed in time with the kettle’s building song.
The pressure behind her eyes flared—brief and sharp, like someone tapping on glass.
She inhaled slowly through her nose, counted to four, then let it go. The pressure loosened, receded, and agreed to wait.
“Later,” she said, her voice sounding strange, as if it had been sitting unused on a shelf all day.
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