Angol
A week, maybe two. That is how long Gus is meant to stay.
Then the world locks its doors.
The two weeks become a year. Sealed inside his own house with a dying friend, a dog that watches too closely, and a glass he is certain he can set down any time he likes, Theo learns the true shape of caregiving-the tenderness, the routine, and the slow overreach of a man who cannot stop holding up what was never his to carry.
He tells himself this is love. Maybe it is.
But the house has begun to sit a few degrees wrong. A room that goes strange and rights itself. A minute the clock seems to skip. A silence where the dog's claws should sound on the hall floor. Nothing you could point to. Nothing anyone can fix or explain. And the dog keeps turning to look at the thing Theo won't.
When the dying finally ends, it does not end. Another door opens. Someone new needs tending. And Theo-thinner now, certain as ever-begins again, while the one creature who sees the pattern can neither speak nor take a side.
Until Morning is a quiet, unsparing novel about devotion and its excesses: the distance between loving someone and caring for them well, a house that neither loves nor hates the people inside it, and a pattern that will not stop turning over.
For readers of slow-burn literary dread-and anyone who has sat up through a long night, sure they could hold the dark back if they only stayed awake.
