The world did not speak in words.

It never had.

Silver learned that before he learned letters, before numbers, before the careful way adults softened their voices when they thought he couldn’t understand. The world spoke in pressure. In rhythm. In the way the air leaned closer or pulled away, in the way stone remembered weight and floors remembered footsteps long after they were gone.

Tonight, it was very close.

He lay awake in the dark, blanket pulled up to his chin, ...