The air in the kitchen felt like it had been replaced by wet wool. It was thick, scratchy, and impossible to breathe. Outside, the London rain was a relentless rhythmic drumming against the windowpane, but inside, the silence was louder. It was the kind of silence that didn’t just sit there, it pressed against your eardrums until they throbbed.

Elias stood by the counter, his back to the soft glow of the under-cabinet lighting. He looked like a statue carved from shadow. He hadn't moved for three minutes, not since you’d told him that his protection felt more like a cage.