They left the attic naked.

No one reached for the clothes on the floor. The key stayed in the lock. The sheets stayed ruined. Lena went first down the narrow stairs, come still sliding warm between her thighs with every step. Owen followed. Jude came last. The house creaked under three sets of bare feet like it had been waiting for the weight.

The kitchen light was still on. Yellow. Ordinary. The three chairs sat where Owen had placed them. The olives were still in the bowl. The third key’s empty space on the table looked wrong now.

Lena pulled a chair out and sat in it sideways, legs open,...