Outside, the morning light had turned strange—muted, almost bruised, as though the sky itself had pressed close to the windows and refused to brighten. Rain still fell in a soft, steady hiss against the glass panes, but inside the house the air felt heavier, denser, like the atmosphere before a storm that never quite arrives. The walls seemed to lean inward, the ceiling lower than it had been yesterday. The entire building pressed against her ribs, making each breath shallow and deliberate.
