The silence left by the Watcher was different from the one it had imposed. That had been an absolute, external quiet. This one was internal, a thoughtful, heavy stillness that settled over the Silverstone family. The Watcher hadn't been a threat in the way Malphas was, or a problem to be solved like the time paradox. It was a question mark written across the sky, and its presence made every ordinary moment feel like it was being examined under a cold, distant lens.
In the weeks that followed, Luna, now two and a half, seemed to be processing the event in her own way. Her play became more contemplative. She would sit for long periods, not just mending tiny reality fractures, but watching the inhabitants of the Spire—the guards, the cooks, the visiting diplomats from other species. She watched their smiles, their frowns, their moments of frustration and joy with the same intense focus she once reserved for collapsing stars.
