The jump

The kitchen was ordinary, steam rising from a kettle, the click of a spoon against ceramic. Ethan liked mornings that started small and steady. Toast browned the same way every time, the coffee bitter enough to wake a man’s shoulders.

Ayisha moved with the calm of someone who had learned to make order of a life that seldom offered any, bowls lined on the table, a stack of uniform socks arranged by size, crayons set into a small tin like soldiers. Outside, the sun was a promise of ...