The kitchen was unusually quiet.
No music humming in the background, no Hori bouncing around asking about cereal or biscuits.
Just the low mechanical hum of the fridge and the distant pitter of morning drizzle brushing against the glass roof overhead.
Izan stood near the counter, barefoot, hoodie loose around his shoulders.
A cup of coffee sat cooling on the island, untouched as his thumb ran slowly along the edge of the ceramic.
He wasn't thinking about anything in particular—just letting the silence stretch.
Miranda entered softly, without her usual stomp or commentary and she had something in her hand.
Two envelopes.
She didn't say anything at first—just approached the table and placed them down, side by side, right in front of him.
The top one had his name on it, scrawled in shaky blue ink.
The other was plain, save for a printed logo in the top left corner.
