Although the execution ceremony was unsettling, the city did not mark it. By the time Marron reached the inner streets again, Lumeria was already in a "business as usual" state.
A baker lifted his shutters halfway and paused, as if reconsidering, before opening them the rest of the way. A street cleaner pushed water along the gutters, moving slowly, letting the bristles linger over stains that would fade whether scrubbed or not. Voices returned in low increments—never quite rising, never quite absent.
The day resumed, but not smoothly. It was like bread dough that had been kneaded for far too long. It needed to be thrown in the trash for a fresh start.
Marron walked without hurry. Her cloak was still wrapped tight against the cold, though the air had softened since morning. She felt hollowed out—not in pain, not in grief, but in a way that made her movements feel lighter and heavier at the same time.
Aldric, in a moment of empathy, did not follow her or ask any questions.
