The bunker felt smaller once the thought took root.

Standing still.

The idea pressed in on me from all sides, heavier than the concrete ceiling, heavier than the earth piled above it. I had built my entire life around motion—moving cities, names, jobs, schools that never lasted long enough for Marga to make friends she’d have to say goodbye to. Movement was safety. Motion was love.

Stillness was exposure.

The hum outside grew teeth.

Elijah moved first, snapping me out of the spiral. He ...