“Eight o’clock rule,” Damon said.
Mara did not turn. “I know.”
“All four.”
“I heard you the first time.”
The air in the kitchen changed.
Ruth stopped wiping the counter.
Damon’s voice dropped. “Be careful.”
Mara met his eyes.
“About what?”
“Mistaking temporary patience for authority.”
Mara’s stomach tightened. For a second she saw Bryce standing in their old kitchen using the same quiet tone that had once made every room feel smaller.
Then she looked at Lily’s custody message still glowing faintly on her phone near the pantry.
She had not come to Crossmoor House to be brave. She had come because she needed a paycheck.
But stable income would mean nothing if she taught herself to live under somebody else’s threat again.
“I am not asking for authority over you,” she said. “I am asking you not to turn your son into a timer.”
Damon’s face went still.
Samuel looked up.
Mara continued more quietly. “He said he isn’t hungry. I can offer food. I cannot make him want it because a clock says so.”
Damon looked toward Samuel.
For the first time that evening, the exhaustion in his face gave way to something else. Guilt, perhaps. Or recognition.
He walked out of the kitchen without another word.
Mara let out the breath she had been holding.
Ruth came closer.
“That was either very smart or very stupid.”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Neither do I.”
At 7:31, Samuel climbed down from the stool.
He approached the table but did not sit.
Mara waited.
“Can I have toast?” he asked.
