August 5th, 1991
Jaeron had been continuing his morning practice secretly, without his aunt's knowledge and he had met up with that man, Carwin and talked to him about the work. He had already started working there.
So Mannisa wasn't curious about his morning interests.
Right now, they sat in the hall of their home.
The television flickered in the dim lamplight of the sitting room, some melodrama playing out on the screen that Jaeron wasn't really watching. His mind kept drifting to the barn, to midnight, to Angela waiting for him in the darkness. Beside him on the worn sofa, Aunt Mannisa was actually paying attention to the show, occasionally tutting at the characters' poor decisions.
The normalcy of it felt suffocating.
Then came the knock.
Not the casual rap of a neighbor or the quick rhythm of a friend.
This was three slow, deliberate strikes that seemed to echo through the cottage with unusual weight.
Aunt Mannisa looked up from the television, her brow furrowing.
