Caleb asks a careful question.
Not in the middle of the day, when momentum might carry us past it or when interruption would make it easier to pretend it never needed asking. Not when other people are within earshot, when walls feel thin and language has to be managed for witnesses. He waits until the edges have softened, until the building has emptied enough that footsteps echo instead of overlap. Until the kind of quiet settles that doesn’t demand filling, the kind that exists whether you acknowledge it or not.
We’re standing near the exit, lights dimmed down to evening settings, the air carrying that faint after-hours stillness that makes everything feel slightly provisional. End-of-day quiet. No urgency left to hide behind.
“Are we okay?”
He says it lightly, but the care in it is u
