Morning settled into the flat without fuss. The light through the sycamore was pale and steady. The house felt ready to be used, and that helped. Mira sat at the table with both hands around a warm mug. Selina set Harland's slim folder down in front of her and waited. Kael stood near the window, not blocking the light, just there in the way that made rooms feel safe.
"Ready to go through it?" Selina asked.
"As ready as I'll be," Mira said. "Open it."
Selina unclipped the papers and sorted them into three neat piles. She didn't rush. She slid each page close enough that Mira could feel the weight and grain of the paper and the raised logo at the top. It made the information feel less like something far away and more like something she could get her hands on.
"We'll go page by page," Selina said. "If you get tired, we stop. You say when."
"I'll say," Mira answered.
Selina started with the medical pages. She read the headings, the brand names, the dosages, and the times. When the language turned into jargon, she translated. "This section says the home monitor sends your heart data to the clinic's central service every ten minutes. If your rhythm crosses a set limit, it sends an immediate alert. The clinic can call you, call us, or call an ambulance."
"Who can see that data?" Mira asked. "I don't want roles. I want names."
"The page lists roles," Selina said. "Consultant, on-call registrar, device technician, data officer. It also says the access list is kept by Administration."
"So, Ms. Troy," Mira said. "Add 'actual list of names' to our requests. Not titles, not teams. People."
Selina noted it with her quiet pen. "Written. We'll ask for the full roster."
"I also want the delivery driver's name," Mira said. "And a normal delivery time. No more late-night vans."
"We'll move you to daylight delivery," Selina said. "I'll call after we finish these pages."
"Check the street while she's on the call?" Mira asked without turning.
"I'm on it," Kael said. He slipped out. The door closed with barely a sound, and the cold from outside took a small step into the hallway and then left again.
Selina read the caretaker authorization next. "This form says you signed for temporary domestic support—errands, light housekeeping, keeping you company, and safety monitoring by presence. No cameras. It says that clearly."
"Who picked you?" Mira asked. "It won't say it on the decision line."
"The line shows 'placement recommended by clinic.' The agency name is there. My name shows up further down, but the decision box is the clinic's."
"I don't like decisions made three rooms away from me," Mira said.
"Then we bring decisions into this room," Selina said. "We can amend this on our copy today to show you chose me. We'll ask the clinic to update theirs and file it."
"I want Kael listed too," Mira said. "Not as a caretaker. As an approved person in the household. If there's a box for that, use it. If there isn't, write it in."
"On our copy, yes," Selina said. She wrote: Approved by Mira Halden — primary: Selina Vale; household support: Kael Vale. She underlined your name. "We'll submit the amended form with your signature."
"Good," Mira said. Her throat tightened for a second, then eased. Names changed the shape of things.
They went through the Administration section. It was thin and general, the kind of language that tries to calm people without actually telling them anything. Mira listened for the useful part and found the sentence she didn't like. "Read that one again."
"'Where applicable, the clinic may share necessary information with authorized partners to ensure continuity of care,'" Selina read.
"Authorized partners means people we don't name," Mira said. "Add 'full partner list' to our request. And not just current. I want the access log for the last two years. Who looked at my file, when, and why. That includes the monitor data, clinic notes, pharmacy account, and anything the caretaker agency holds."
Selina wrote it down. "Two-year access log. All systems. Who, when, why."
"And add donors," Mira said. "If any donor was ever told my name or saw my file, I want to know that too."
"We'll ask," Selina said. She didn't argue. She just made the list.
"Call the pharmacy first," Mira said. "Practice round."
Selina put the phone on speaker. "Good morning, Willow Pharmacy."
"Hi," Selina said. "This is Selina Vale calling with Mira Halden. We spoke yesterday about large-print labels. Two quick items. We'd like deliveries during daylight hours only. And we'd like the driver's name for our records."
"That's fine," the woman said. "You were flagged 'evening preferred,' but I can change that right now."
Mira raised her eyebrows at the folder. "Who set that?" she murmured.
Selina kept going. "And the driver?"
"Usually Liam on Fridays," the woman said. "If it's not Liam, it's Sarah. No one else in your area."
"Thank you," Selina said. "One more check. Two nights ago there was activity at the address late at night—after eleven. Was that you?"
"Nothing on our log after six p.m.," the woman said after a quick pause. "No late deliveries there this week."
"Understood," Selina said. "Please note on the account that any after-hours visits must be pre-arranged and confirmed by us."
"I'll add that note," the woman said. "Before I let you go, a billing question did pop up. The account shows payment by the clinic's foundation. There's also a quality-check note: no substitutions."
"Thank you," Mira said. "Daylight deliveries only. Liam or Sarah. Foundation pays."
"Yes, Miss Halden," the woman said, friendly. "We'll see you Friday."
When Selina ended the call, the room was quiet in a different way. "So the late-night visitor wasn't pharmacy."
"Clinic, or someone hoping people would assume clinic," Kael said, coming back in with the cold on his coat. "There's a dark blue car that is getting too familiar with your street. No front plate, rear plate only. Parks, pulls off, parks again. Driver wears a cap and looks away if anyone looks at him."
"Could be clinic security," Mira said. "Could be something else."
"I logged the plate," Kael said. "We keep notes. We don't change our day for them."
"Right," Selina said. She flipped to a clean page and wrote: Dark blue car, rear plate only, times 6:40 and 7:15. "Next call. Administration."
She asked the switchboard for Ms. Troy and put it on speaker. The hold music tried to be calm and ended up irritating. Then a precise voice came on the line.
"Administration, Troy speaking."
"Good morning," Selina said. "This is Selina Vale with Mira Halden. We'd like to arrange a subject access package and confirm a few account details. Mira is on the line."
"For privacy, requests must come directly from the patient," Ms. Troy said.
"I'm here," Mira said. She kept her tone level. "I'm requesting the monitor access list by name, the data access logs for the last twenty-four months for monitor, clinic, pharmacy, and caretaker agency, the list of authorized partners by name, and the decision trail for caretaker placement. I also want to amend the caretaker form to show that I chose Ms. Vale and to add an approved household member, Mr. Kael Vale."
"We can prepare a subject access package," Ms. Troy said. "Processing can take up to thirty days. Amending forms goes through Home Support. I can forward your request."
"I want a call tomorrow to go over what can be shared now," Mira said. "Names for the monitor access can be read to me on the call. If any part requires longer processing, say so and tell me why."
There was a short pause. "I can offer a twenty-minute call tomorrow at ten a.m. Some items may require additional time."
"Tomorrow at ten is fine," Mira said. "Please include the names you have. If any donor was given my name or access to my file, include that in the package too."
"I will note your request," Ms. Troy said. "You will receive an email confirming the call."
"Thank you," Mira said. She ended the call and put the phone down. Her hand shook a little; she pressed it to the table until it stopped.
"You did well," Selina said. "She heard you."
"She'll push back in other ways," Kael said.
"Then we'll be ready in other ways," Selina said. She closed the folder and slid it aside. "Let's make lunch. We don't let this take the whole day."
The kitchen smelled like leeks and rosemary within a few minutes. The pot found a steady simmer. The house liked that sound. Kael opened the window by two fingers and stood by the door for a moment to listen to the street. He did it without drama. It wasn't a performance. It was a habit.
They ate together at the table. The soup was hot and simple. The bread had a dark crust and needed butter, and they didn't argue with it. Mira felt the heat in her chest loosen a notch.
"Do we prepare direct questions for Harland too?" she asked.
"Yes," Selina said. "We don't leave gaps he can fill with speeches. We ask the practical things and wait for the answers to be either clear or slippery."
"Like who set 'evening preferred,' who authorized late visits, who recommended caretaker placement by name, and who the partners are," Mira said.
"And why he tried to come by unannounced last night," Selina said. "That too."
A knock at the door cut across the room. It was firm and impatient, and familiar enough that all three of them knew who it was before anyone moved.
"We're eating," Selina said as she stood. "I'll speak to him in the hall."
She opened the door a hand's width. "Doctor."
"Just a moment," Harland said, voice soft and practiced. "I wanted to confirm that the monitor integration is functioning and deliver a couple of documents that should have been included yesterday."
"Leave the papers," Selina said. "We can't do a doorstep review in the middle of lunch."
He lowered his voice. "Miss Vale, I'm concerned about stress. The number of calls this morning is not ideal. The Administration office can be… difficult. I'd prefer my office to manage requests so Miss Halden doesn't have to—"
"Mira will decide what Mira does," Selina said. "If you have documents, pass them through. If you want to talk, call at four. We'll give you five minutes then."
"This is irregular," he said, the smile still in his tone even when the words weren't.
"So was your unannounced visit last night," Selina said. "Four o'clock, Doctor. Please don't knock again before then."
There was a small silence, like a room holding its breath. "Four," he said. The papers slid through. The step creaked as he left.
Selina brought the envelope back to the table. "We'll open it later," she said. "Eat while it's hot."
Mira realized her hand was tight around the spoon. She loosened it and took another mouthful. The taste helped. Kael came back in from the hallway and raised an eyebrow.
"He tried," Selina said.
"He'll keep trying," Kael replied. "If he comes at an hour that isn't reasonable, I'll answer. He can practice being polite to a man."
"I'd like to hear that," Mira said.
"You'll hear it," Kael said. "I'm not loud."
After lunch, Nora arrived with a paper bag that carried the smell of rain and a bakery that took itself seriously. She announced herself through the letter slot. "It's Nora. I'm not a burglar. I'm worse—I brought scones and opinions."
Selina opened the door. Nora swished in on a draft. "Right," she said, setting the bag down. "Scones first, news second. You look better, love. Color in your face. Hair behaving. Good."
"Thank you," Mira said. Nora's voice always made the room feel solid.
Nora noticed Kael. "And who is this one? He could be on a poster. Don't worry, I'm not adopting you. I have a cat already."
"I'll stand over here and be furniture," Kael said.
"Do that," Nora said briskly. She turned back to Mira. "Have you watched the midday news? You probably didn't, which is fair. They finally named one of those private doctors. Alan Alder. Central district. Worked with the network your consultant's attached to. They say there's no risk to patients, which is the sort of thing people say when there's a risk and lawyers."
Mira pressed her fingers to the table and kept her voice even. "Alan Alder," she repeated. "Can you spell it for me?"
Nora had already written it on a torn piece of envelope. Her handwriting attacked the paper. "Here you are. I copied the police number too. If you call them, don't call alone. Make someone sit here and write everything down."
"Thank you," Mira said. "We'll decide tomorrow after the Administration call."
"Good," Nora said. "Eat a scone now or I'll make a scene."
They each ate one because Nora stood there with the look that moves mountains and nurses. Butter and jam did their job. Some things are reliable.
"Any other news?" Selina asked.
"The weather people say little power flickers in two districts," Nora said. "They blame damp, which is true of everything in this city. Astronomers say we might see that meteor fragment at dusk if the clouds behave. They keep saying there's no danger. People don't say 'no danger' that often unless someone's worried."
"We'll keep a torch close," Selina said. "We'll leave a lamp on another circuit. If the power goes out for a second, we stay still until it comes back."
Nora nodded at that and then told them a quick story about her cat falling into a bag of flour. It cleaned the air the way stories do. She left after twenty minutes with the promise to "shout at any man with a clipboard" if one tried to bother them before four.
When the door shut, the flat settled again. The quiet was not empty. It was the kind that let people think without pressure.
"Alan Alder," Mira said under her breath, as if saying it softer would make it less heavy. It didn't. It was a proper name and carried weight.
Selina wrote the police case number space in her notebook and drew a box around it. "We don't need to call tonight," she said. "It's there if we choose to."
Mira nodded. "Okay."
They used the next hour for practice. Walk to the door and back. Sit before the band around the chest tightened instead of after. Breathe in a way that helped. Selina did not count like a coach. She waited and matched Mira's pace. When Mira said, "That's enough," Selina said, "Good. We stop."
Kael checked the street at steady intervals. "The blue car has been past twice more," he said after the second loop. "It didn't stop. Same driver. I have the plate. If it's a clinic vehicle, there will be a record. If it isn't, we'll find out."
"I don't want to spend my life chasing cars," Mira said.
"You won't," Selina said. "We keep a record. Then we live the day that's in front of us."
At four, the phone rang. Selina set it on the table, and Mira answered on speaker. "Hello."
"Miss Halden," Harland said. "How are we settling in?"
"Well enough," Mira said. "We have questions."
"Of course," he said. "What can I clarify?"
"Two nights ago there was late activity outside my home. Not pharmacy. Was that a clinic visit?"
"I'm not aware of a late call," he said. "I'll check."
"Thank you. Second, my file said 'evening preferred' for deliveries. I didn't set that. Who did?"
"Sometimes staff estimate preferences when patients are unwell," he said. "We can correct that."
"Please correct it. Third, who recommended caretaker placement by name?"
"That comes from a team," he said smoothly.
"I still want a name," Mira said. She didn't raise her voice. She didn't need to.
"Ms. Troy coordinated," he said after a beat.
"Fine. Fourth, the privacy policy mentions 'authorized partners.' I want the names."
"Administration holds that list," he said. "Ms. Troy can provide it on your call."
"She will," Mira said. "We're scheduled for ten tomorrow."
He tried to soften the edge. "I'm pleased you're taking a proactive role, but let's be careful not to overdo it. Stress can be a trigger for your condition."
"We won't overdo it," Mira said. "That's all for today."
"Very good," he said, and ended the call.
Mira put the phone down and breathed out. "That was tolerable."
"You were clear," Selina said. "He'll test other boundaries. We'll hold them."
"He will try another door," Kael said. "If he tries this one again tonight, I'll speak to him."
They left the new envelope sealed and made dinner. After, Selina wrote a short list for the morning—call time, questions to confirm, groceries to refill. The radio played a station that didn't talk much. The room felt like a place that could be lived in, not just managed.
Just before eight, a text from Administration came through confirming the ten a.m. call and asking Mira to have ID ready. Selina showed it to the phone so it could read the sender name aloud. "We'll ask for what exists now," she said. "We won't accept 'not available' without a reason."
"At eight I'll walk the loop," Kael said, shrugging into his coat. "Back in ten."
"Be careful," Mira said, and didn't apologize for saying it again.
He dipped his head and went out. The door hinge thanked the oil.
While he was outside, the television gave a short update without much substance. The anchor read two sentences about Dr. Alan Alder and moved on to a piece about weather instruments showing odd readings in three regions. Engineers said damp and wind. Astronomers said the meteor might be visible after all if the cloud broke. Officials said everything was stable. People who listened closely could hear doubt underneath.
Selina turned it off. "Enough for tonight," she said.
Kael came back, hung his coat, and wrote the time down. "No blue car this round," he said. "Street is normal. Nora told a man off for leaving a parcel on her steps."
"Of course she did," Mira said.
At nine-thirty, an unknown number rang. Selina answered and put it on speaker. "Hello."
"Miss Halden?" The voice was older and sounded tired, like someone who had been working through a stack of calls all day. "Sergeant Payne, Central Division. We received a neighbor referral to contact you regarding the recent incidents in the private network."
"I didn't make a request," Mira said.
"We have a note on your address," he said. "I can call back tomorrow if now isn't good."
"What do you need to know?" Selina asked.
"We're building a timeline concerning Dr. Alan Alder," he said. "If Miss Halden has any memory of calls, house visits, or unusual deliveries in the last month, even vague details, it could help."
"I'm not sure," Mira said. "My memory isn't clear. There were late-night visitors two nights ago. We don't know who. We're writing down times and plates. We will send that when we confirm it."
"That's helpful," he said. "I can give you a case number so you can email details when you're ready."
"Please do," Selina said. She wrote it down as he read it. "We have an Administration call at ten in the morning to get an access list. If names come up that match your needs, we'll include them."
"Thank you," he said. "If you remember any contact with Dr. Alder—calls, emails—send that as well. Good evening."
"Good evening," Mira said.
The call ended. Kael checked the number against a list on his phone and nodded. "Real," he said.
"We decide about speaking more after tomorrow morning," Selina said. "We'll do one big push, not ten small ones."
Mira agreed. The bedtime routine was simpler than the night before. She could find the glass and the switch without fumbling. The ribbon on the bed frame kept her from bumping the corner. Selina stood in the doorway as a quiet backstop. Kael paused in the hall.
"Window open or closed?" he asked.
"Open a little," Mira said. "I sleep better like that."
He opened it with care so it would not rattle. "Good night," he said.
"Good night," she answered.
When the flat went quiet, she told the phone what mattered and saved it. "Daylight deliveries. Names for drivers. Foundation pays. Administration call at ten. Harland confirmed Ms. Troy coordinated caretakers. Police case number noted. Blue car plate logged. My rule is to ask and to choose. Tonight I choose to sleep."
Sleep came in whole pieces instead of scraps. In the soft space before full sleep, she was back at the water in her mind. The white flower held the single drop the way it always did. This time, the name that had hovered for days settled in her chest instead of slipping away. She didn't force it. She let it belong to her.
When she woke once in the small hours, she did not reach for the wall right away. She knew where she was. She could name the people in the next rooms. The feeling wasn't joy. It was steadiness, and that was new.
Kael's watch posted him to the corner again. The blue car did not come back. A fox did. The lamppost flickered once and then decided against it. Choice by choice, the street admitted it would behave. He sent a single word to Selina—clear—and stayed on the corner for the rest of his ten minutes because rules mattered when the rest of the world felt loose.
Back in his office, under the pool of his lamp, Harland read Ms. Troy's confirmation and pressed his jaw tight until the urge to argue with the email passed. He opened a news tab, read the piece on Dr. Alan Alder, and closed it with a neat click. He told himself he had always disliked Alder's habits. He told himself the network would be fine because he managed it well. He drafted a note to a donor and used the words "resilience" and "community" again. He sent it. He straightened his tie though no one was there to see it. Then he turned off the lamp and left the office with his face set to the expression that moved committees along.
Elsewhere in the city, a different apartment held a different kind of quiet. A red envelope sat on a low table next to a crystal glass that smelled like old money. The man at the table had Mira's cheekbones and none of her softness. He broke the wax seal and read the invitation from a private banker who was not simply a banker. It offered a reception with selected patrons. It hinted at access to information the public did not have about the weather shifts and the "alignment" astronomers were treating like entertainment. It named a hall underneath a club that did not have its name on the door. It requested a reply with a single line: "Attendance confirmed by bearer."
He folded the invitation and placed it in his inside pocket. He tapped his phone and told his assistant to move the dinner with a minister to another night. He told his lawyer to be ready to sign without questions. He looked at the portrait on the wall and did not think about daughters. He didn't have to think about them to move money. He did that well enough without thinking.
At the same hour, in another city, a private message reached a list of people who liked small rooms and big promises. It mentioned a guest from overseas who would "share methods" in a closed circle. It used the word "preparation." It did not say the word "cult." It didn't need to. People who received the message already knew what they were joining.
None of that touched the sycamore outside Mira's window. The leaves shook and settled. The green light on the monitor kept its small appointment with itself. The kettle would ask for work in the morning. The fridge would hum. The door would open to a day with a plan.
Morning would bring the call with Administration. It would bring names, or it would bring excuses, and either way there would be a record. It would bring a simple breakfast and a short walk if Mira's chest allowed it. It might bring a clear sky at dusk and a line on the news about a meteor that "posed no threat." It might bring the blue car again. It might not.
For tonight, the house knew who slept in it. Selina left the door to the next room open and kept her phone where her hand could find it without looking. Kael set his next alarm and lay down with his coat folded over the chair because he liked to be able to leave the room in one move if he had to. Mira slept in a bed that had decided to remember her shape, not because of magic, but because people had made it so.
She didn't dream of hospitals. She didn't dream of corridors. She dreamed of a name that no longer ran away the moment she woke. That was enough for one chapter of a long book.