I wake before dawn.
Not pulled from sleep. Not startled. Just aware.
The room is dark, the kind of dark that still has shape to it. The outline of the window. The suggestion of trees beyond it, their presence more felt than seen. Adam’s breathing is steady beside me, deep and even, the rhythm of it familiar enough to be grounding. I lie still for a moment longer than necessary, letting the awareness settle without reaching for anything to justify it.
There are no alarms in the network.
No pressure spikes. No thin places flaring. Nothing calling my name or tugging at the edges of my attention. The quiet holds the way it has learned to hold, not brittle, not tense. Conditioned. Practiced.
And yet, something feels different.
It is not danger. It does not have the sharpness of threat or
