After dinner, the house felt unusually quiet.
Mark and I had finished eating not long ago, but neither of us had moved to leave the dining room. We sat there for a moment, the weight of unspoken thoughts stretching between us, settling in the spaces we hadn't yet figured out how to fill.
Tomorrow, everything will change.
It wasn't as if we hadn't already spent the past week preparing. The house was ready. My room had been moved. The hidden door installation was finished. We had laid out our strategy, gone over the details and made sure that we were prepared for whatever scrutiny Nate might bring.
But now that it was the night before, the reality of it all felt heavier.
I exhaled, pushing my plate slightly away from me, though I had barely made a dent in my food. Mark, seated across from me, twirled his fork between his fingers, gaze distant. He wasn't eating either.
