The next morning was quiet. They didn't hold another procession. Mimea was still blanketed in the same silence the town revered, but something shifted. Like mist curling from a lake, or sound just beginning to remember its name.
Lucian walked the streets while the others rested, his cloak drawn close. People passed by without speaking, as usual. But now he noticed their masks were slightly off-kilter, and their steps uneven.
A few stared at Alice when they thought she wasn't looking. Some stepped into doorways to avoid Lucian altogether.
Others… nodded.
Just slightly.
Hesitant.
A little scared, even.
Lucian watched them all—and tried to catalog it.
Are they afraid of us now? Or grateful? Or just waiting to see what else we'll ruin?
He leaned against the fountain's edge at the heart of town, watching as someone scrubbed away chalk traces from the square. But the place where Alice's glyph had been still shimmered faintly, like it refused to be forgotten.
