So I made myself slow.

I poured everything where they could see.

I bought the bottles with the seals.

I never once said you’re being ridiculous, because they were not being ridiculous; they were being careful, in the specific way that careful had once kept them alive.

And slowly — not in a week, not in a month, but slowly — the vigilance began to loosen its grip, one poured glass at a time, as their bodies gathered enough evidence that the world had changed to finally, cautiously, believe it.

Chapter 22 — The Watch on the Nightstand