Franklin placed the pillow directly in the center of the bed, marking the space with unsettling confidence. I felt something shift inside me, a warning that arrived fully formed before logic could interfere. I wanted to speak, to object, to say no with the clarity I felt in my bones, but I heard all the voices I had been conditioned to obey.
Do not make a scene.
Do not disrespect elders.
Do not ruin the first night.
So I stayed silent, and silence became my first mistake.
We lay down without ceremony. I pressed myself to the far edge of the bed, my body tense, my senses alert. Franklin lay between us, his hands folded on his chest, his breathing shallow and controlled. Caleb turned toward me briefly, his fingers brushing my arm in what he probably believed was reassurance, and then he closed his eyes.
Sleep did not come to me. The digital clock glowed in the darkness, each minute stretching longer than the last. Caleb’s breathing settled into an easy rhythm, the sound of a man who trusted that things would resolve themselves without effort. Franklin remained unnervingly awake, his breaths uneven, as though he were listening for something I could not hear.