No one moved after the gardener whispered his warning.
The silence spread outward from that single sentence the way water spreads from a dropped stone, quiet and complete. The birds, which had filled the Garden's air since their arrival, simply stopped. The streams continued their motion, but even the sound of moving water seemed to soften, as though something had asked the whole valley to lower its voice. Leaves stilled despite the breeze that still moved through the branches above them.
No alarm sounded. Nothing about the moment suggested danger in any sense Sarya's instincts recognized.
And yet every person standing in the grove felt the same unmistakable thing — the sense of something ancient turning its attention, slowly and without hurry, toward this exact place.
Not anger.
Attention.
