Grace had started keeping a list.
Not written down — that felt too dangerous, too easy for someone to find — but organized carefully in her mind instead, the same way she'd once organized every detail of a room before deciding whether it was safe to speak in it. Small things, mostly. The rhythm of Erik's supply runs. The particular tone he used with his brother versus the one he reserved for the woman with red hair. The way his shoulders relaxed, however briefly, whenever he thought no one was watching him closely enough to notice.
She'd been watching for weeks now. Long enough to know things about him that she suspected even his own family didn't fully notice.
