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The morning had wound itself into a quiet calm. The clatter of dishes had faded, leaving only the faint fragrance of roasted spices and simmered broth lingering in the air.
The table was bare now, wiped clean, though a warmth remained in the polished wood where plates had sat.
Azazel had stayed behind after the meal, his movements steady and purposeful as he carried plates into the kitchen alongside Theresa, careful not to let her lift more than she should.
When Benjamin rose to clear his own place, Azazel had been quick to step in, his voice quiet but firm—"Allow me, sir."
And now, with everything tidied, he stood before the entrance door.
The soft morning breeze drifted in through the open space, carrying with it the scent of dew and freshly turned earth, cool against his skin.
The rest of the family had gathered near the doorway with him—Theresa and Benjamin side by side, Ava a step behind her parents, and Cassandra hovering close to her mother's skirts.
