The morning light fell differently that day. It filtered through the half-open blinds, brushing against the floorboards in golden stripes that seemed to carry a message, though Aria could not read it yet.
Elena was already awake, sprawled on the rug with her stuffed rabbit, her small hands tracing imaginary patterns across the carpet. She looked up when Aria entered the room.
"Did you dream again?" Aria asked.
Elena shook her head slowly. "I just woke up."
Her answer should have been ordinary, but there was something deliberate in the way she spoke, a weight that did not belong to her age.
Aria knelt beside her. "What are you thinking about, then?"
Elena shrugged. "Nothing. Maybe everything."
Aria smiled faintly. Some things never changed. Children always carried more than they appeared to.
She moved to the bedroom to make the bed. As she lifted the covers, something slipped from between the mattress and the frame: a small, folded envelope she did not recognize.
