Page 24 of Forever We Embrace: The Later Years
“Sometimes.” I settle him more securely against me. “A system is a set of rules that helps something work. Ember House has rules that protect the people living there.”
He studies the boxes and lines connecting the organizations on my screen. “Is this one good?”
“No. This one was made to look helpful while it hurt people.”
His nose wrinkles. “Then why don’t you delete it?”
“Because first we have to find every part of it and learn who made it.”
James rests his dinosaur on the desk. “Like debugging? You find the bad part and fix it?”
“Exactly.”
He considers that for several seconds, then leans his head against my chest.
“Can I stay until you’re done?”
I look at the open files. Ward entered a machine that was already running. Josie’s life is connected to the same network in too many places to dismiss, but I still don't know what she understands or who is directing it.
I close the remaining windows. “I’m done for now.”
James’s eyes are already drifting shut when I stand with him in my arms. He curls one hand into my shirt and traps the dinosaur between us, the monitors going dark behind us as I carry him upstairs.
12
Grayson
I arrive at Ember House with three sample boards, a tablet full of room layouts, and no intention of calling any of it finished.
The professional architects have already handled structural supports, fire routes, accessibility requirements, and the limits of the existing building. My work begins inside those boundaries: how the halls open, where the light falls, what residents see when they wake, and whether a shared room allows someone to be near other people without being forced into conversation.
I have worked on the options after the children were asleep, shifting walls that are not load-bearing, testing furniture arrangements, and discarding colors that looked calm on a screen but harsh beneath the sanctuary lights. Whenever I thought I had settled something, another question followed. A clear view of the hallway might reassure one person and makeanother feel exposed. A door that closes silently might soothe someone who startles at loud sounds but unsettle someone who needs to hear the latch before they can relax.
Today, the residents see everything before another version goes to the architects. Blossom is already rearranging the common room when I enter, dragging one chair out of the loose circle Luca helped her create.
“Leave that one,” Luca tells her from the doorway. “Maya asked for it near the window.”
“She asked for it near the window yesterday. Today, the sun is directly in her eyes.”
Maya walks in behind him and stops beside the disputed chair. “I can move it if the sun bothers me.”
Blossom releases the back of it. “Fine. I was preserving your eyesight, but apparently that is no longer part of my job.”
“It was never part of your job,” Maya says as she sits down.
“It is part of every job I have.”
Luca laughs and brushes his shoulder against Blossom’s on his way toward me. His gaze drops to the sample boards beneath my arm before lifting to my face.
“You brought all of them.”
“I brought the ones that survived.”
“How many didn’t?”
“Enough that I am no longer allowed to order samples after midnight.”
Blossom overhears as she returns to the table. “That sounds like a rule Grayson invented after ordering more samples.”
