The sky opened up above them again like an endless ocean, vast and clear, with the white of the clouds forming an uneven carpet beneath Scarlett's colossal body. She flew high enough that the world below was merely a suggestion of shapes and colors, distant, irrelevant before the tranquil immensity that surrounded them. The rhythm of her wings was constant, steady, supporting not only her own weight but also that of the three who rested on her back, settled more naturally now, as if this kind of journey had already become part of their routine.
The wind up there was colder, but also cleaner.
Quieter.
After the previous night, after the festival, after everything that had happened—
There was a strange balance there.
Not perfect.
But stable.
