The day began like a swallowed breath.
The city lay still beneath a sky that had forgotten its color. No blue, no gray—just this matte half-light, where sounds were muffled and thoughts became too loud.
Lina sat on the ledge of the ramp, dangling her legs. Below her, the golden Network glided sluggishly along the support pillars, as if rolling its shoulders. Beside her, Alaric pushed up his sleeves and wrapped fresh bandages around his knuckles. An old movement, so routine that it seemed comforting—yet in every motion lay something restless that didn't come from the body.
"You don't need those," Lina finally said. "No one's training you here."
"One doesn't only train against fists," he replied. "Sometimes against what lives in one's own head."
