The house felt different that morning.
Franz noticed it before he fully opened his eyes.
The silence was not the same as the night before. It no longer had the strained edge of interrupted sleep or the uneven rhythm of fever and restless movement.
He remained still for a moment, listening.
There was no crying. No shifting against the sheets.
Franz opened his eyes.
The curtains had been left slightly open. A band of pale light stretched across the bed, catching along the edge of the blanket where Leo's hand still rested loosely near his sleeve.
The boy had shifted during the night. He was no longer curled tightly against Franz's side. Instead, he lay on his back, one arm stretched above his head, his breathing slow and even.
Franz turned slightly.
On the other side of the bed, Lily lay pressed close to Arianne, her face buried partially against the pillow. The flush that had colored her cheeks the previous night had faded. Her breathing, too, had settled into a steady rhythm.
