The second rest day had settled into its quiet rhythm when the neighbor's boy appeared at the gate just after midday.
He carried a single sealed packet. The wax was stamped with a mark none of them had seen this far from the old roads—an imperial courier's seal, dulled by travel but still clear.
The boy handed it over without ceremony, took the small coin Clara offered, and left the way he had come. He did not look back.
Eli was the one who broke the seal.
She did it at the kitchen table while the other three watched. The paper inside was thick, the handwriting careful and formal, the kind taught in the old court schools. She read it once in silence. Then she read it again, slower.
When she set it down her face had not changed much, but the set of her shoulders had.
"It's from the empire," she said. "From my son."
Atlas felt the words land like a second cut. Lara's hand, already near his on the table, closed over his wrist. Clara stayed still, ledger closed, eyes on Eli.
