Some panic when doors lock automatically.
But they’re learning.
Slowly.
Painfully.
They’re learning they’re allowed to exist without permission.
The little girl from the bunker—
the one who asked if she would be corrected—
now insists glitter is an acceptable decorating strategy for literally everything.
Every.
Thing.
There’s glitter on the tree.
Glitter on the fireplace.
Glitter somehow on the dog.
I honestly stopped asking questions.
Downstairs, the teenage girl from Ascension—
Eva.
Her name is Eva now.
Not Subject Eight-Seven.
Eva laughs quietly while helping another child hang ornaments across the staircase railing.
The sound still catches me off guard sometimes.
Because for weeks after the rescue she barely spoke above a whisper.
Now?
Now she argues with Clay about music choices and secretly sneaks extra cookies to the younger kids after bedtime.
Progress.
Beautiful, stubborn progress.
The teenage boy—
Eli.
Because yes.
He chose that name himself.
He helps Gabriel repair old motorcycles in the detached garage behind the lodge and pretends he isn’t emotionally attached to the giant German Shepherd puppy they rescued last month.
