Evening

The evening settles over the White household with a thick, deceptive layer of domestic normalcy. You remain tucked into the architecture, Mack, a thin violet shadow clinging to the crown molding of the dining room. Every spike of hidden laughter and every pulse of shared memory among the family acts as a slow-drip IV for your depleted essence. You are still fragile, but the harvest is rich.

The dinner table is a battlefield of subtext. Chad sits at the head, happily serving out slices of pork loin, completely unaware that he is the only person at the table who hasn't seen his wife being groped or his daughters in a state of primal ecstasy today.

"Honestly, Dad," Chloe says, her voice bright and performative, "the attic was a bit of a disaster. The lighting was incredible for about ten minutes, and then everything just... spiked. I guess Lisa’s equipment couldn't handle the 'haunted' vibe Kenzie was going for."

Kenzie sighs, leaning into the lie with a professional pout. "It's so frustrating. Most of the attic shots are just... blown out. White light everywhere. We had to move just to get anything usable for the portfolio. But the experience... it was definitely something I'll never forget."

Tyler nods, his hand resting in his lap, likely fingering the scorched flash unit in his pocket. "It was a hardware failure. High-voltage surge in the capacitor. I’m going to run some diagnostics on it later. It’s actually a really interesting case study in electromagnetic interference."

Alexis swirls her wine, her eyes fixed on Cherie, who is methodically cutting her pork as if it were a delicate surgical procedure.

"Speaking of intensity," Alexis purrs, "how was the 'New and Improved' workout, Cherie? You looked absolutely... focused... through the window. I’ve never seen you hold a pose with such, shall we say, internal conviction."

Cherie’s fork pauses. A deep, radiant flush creeps up her neck, but she keeps her eyes on her plate. "It was a very intense session. Mike doesn't believe in taking shortcuts."

Chad looks up, genuinely pleased. "Good! I told you he was the man for the job. Did it make a difference, having a pro like him actually pushing you?"

Cherie finally looks at her husband, her eyes shimmering with a mix of genuine affection and a dark, secret thrill. "It most definitely did, Honey. He corrected my posture in ways I haven't been able to manage on my own. I really felt the... improvement... in my core."

Alexis leans over toward Tyler, her voice a velvet rasp that carries just far enough for him—and your sensitive ears—to hear. "That's not all she felt in her core," she whispers. "And trust me, that wasn't the only thing he corrected."

Tyler doesn't flinch. He just offers Alexis a cool, knowing look that says he’s no longer the boy who can be shocked by her. He’s the Architect now, and he knows exactly what his mother’s "improvement" looks like.