Page 20 of Thunder's Reckoning

The question caught me off guard. Outside hadn’t been ours to choose. With Gabrial, it meant an escort, a reason, a time limit, never just because.

Here, there was no one to ask. No one setting the clock.

“Just for a little while,” I said, though I wasn’t sure if I was granting permission to her or to myself.

We finished breakfast in quick, distracted bites, then stepped onto the porch. The air was sharp with damp earthand pine, touched faintly by the metallic tang of morning dew burning off in the sun. Gravel crunched under our shoes, loud in the stillness.

Zara wandered to the edge of the yard, crouching to pluck small yellow weeds, humming to herself. Malik stayed close, scanning the treeline in slow, deliberate sweeps, his gaze darting to the gaps between trees. Mapping, measuring.

I didn’t tell him to stop. Hyper-awareness was the only language we both spoke fluently.

The sunlight caught my face, and I flinched before I could stop myself. After years of Gabrial’s schedule — every minute claimed, daylight rationed into careful, controlled doses — this open yard felt like a stage, the sky too wide, the air too easy to breathe.

Footsteps on gravel pulled my attention to the side of the house.

Zeke came into view, not from the drive, but from the narrow path that disappeared toward the back, toward The Pit’s basement entrance. His walk was unhurried, but his eyes swept the yard like they took in more than they let on.

“Y’all gettin’ some air?” he asked, his voice low and warm.

I nodded, my throat a little tight. “Just a bit.”

He stopped at the bottom of the steps, then sat down like he’d done it a hundred times, forearms resting on his knees. Zara lit up when she saw him, weed clutched in her hand.

“Look!” she said, holding it out.

He leaned forward, eyes crinkling just enough to take the edge off their pale intensity. “That there’s a dandelion,” he told her. “When it turns white, you blow on it and make a wish. This one’s still yellow, means it’s feedin’ the bees right now.”

She smiled, satisfied with that answer, and went back to picking.

Zeke glanced at Malik. “You see that tree line back there?” he asked, nodding toward the wall of pines. “Couple years back, a bobcat wandered down from the hills. Took off soon as it saw me, they’re more scared of you than you are of them. Still, you keep your distance.”

Malik gave the barest nod, but I saw the way Zeke’s gaze lingered, like he was weighing the boy’s reaction, measuring his edges.

His eyes came to me next. “Quiet out here most days. Folks mind their own. Ain’t a bad place to breathe for a while.”

The words were casual, but the way he said them felt like more than just conversation. Like he was looking for the answer I wasn’t ready to give yet.

I kept my voice steady. “We’ll be fine here.”

He studied me for half a heartbeat longer, then pushed to his feet, dusting his palms on his jeans. “Good. You need anythin’ before I head off?”

I shook my head. “We’re fine,” I repeated.

He gave one short nod, then walked back the way he came. The low rumble of the engine rolled through the air, fading into the trees until the quiet took the yard back.

I realized then my hands were still curled around the porch rail, holding on like the ground might shift under me if I let go.

BY THE TIMEwe circled back to the porch,the sun was higher and the air felt heavier. Zara was dragging her feet, eyelids drooping in that way that meant a meltdown was coming if I didn’t get her down for a nap soon.

Inside, the cool stillness of the house wrapped around us. Malik stretched out on the couch, one arm thrown over his face. Zara curled into a chair with her bear. Within minutes, their breathing settled into the slow, even rhythm of sleep.

I should have slept too. God knows I needed it. But the quiet pressed against me in a way that kept my eyes open. For so long, every quiet moment had been filled with expectation, someone coming in, someone telling me what to do next. I didn’t know what to do when no one came.

I drifted into the kitchen instead, leaning against the counter.

It took me a second to realize what was wrong. No one had told me what was for dinner. No list, no instructions, no timetable.

In Gabrial’s house, that decision had never been mine. He had cooks and servants, dinner appeared when it was meant to, like everything else. I never thought about it, never had to.