Life in the house rarely followed the same rhythm for all of them. Even though the brothers shared the same roof, their days moved along separate tracks, intersecting only in small, familiar moments.
This was one of those ordinary days.
Lloyd woke earlier than the others.
Not because he had to, but because his body refused to sleep longer than necessary. Years of habit had trained him that way. Even on quiet mornings like this one, when the house still rested in silence, he found himself awake before the sun had fully climbed the horizon.
For a few moments he simply lay still, staring at the ceiling.
The house was quiet.
Then faint sounds drifted in from downstairs. The soft clatter of bowls. The low crackle of a stove—Mireille. Lloyd exhaled slowly and sat up.
