Here's the expanded version at ~1200 words, same start, same end:
The next day.
Before sunrise.
Jelo, Atlas, and Mira stood in front of Tongen's house, still half-asleep but already tense. The sky was a bruised, lightless grey, and the cold clung to their skin like something deliberate. No one had slept well. Jelo had stared at the ceiling for most of the night, turning over the moments from yesterday—every stumble, every correction, every quiet second where Tongen had simply watched him and said nothing.
Atlas yawned, jaw cracking loudly.
"Why do I feel like today is going to be worse than yesterday…"
Mira crossed her arms.
"Because it is."
Jelo said nothing. He could already feel it. Something in the air was different—heavier, somehow. Like the morning itself was bracing.
The door opened.
Tongen stepped out.
No greeting. No warmth. He walked past them without a glance, his footsteps unhurried and precise, and they fell into line behind him without being told.
