There were benches. A training circle etched into the floor, its runes faded but still faintly active.
The wall lights adjusted with the hour, keeping the courtyard bathed in soft nighttime hues—dim enough to relax, bright enough to see.
Ethan walked to the tree near the center.
It was bearing fruit.
Not a kind he recognized. But it smelled clean. Fresh. Slightly sweet—but not synthetic. Like something that had grown over time, not cultivated in a lab or enhanced through tech.
The kind of growth that requires patience, not input settings.
He paused there for a while, one hand resting near the trunk. Then turned and walked back inside.
Everly had already passed out on the couch, curled sideways, one leg hanging off, arms tucked under a blanket she must've pulled from the storage drawer beneath the console.
Her breathing was calm. Steady. She hadn't even noticed when the lights dimmed to match the evening cycle.
