EMMA'S POV
The world did not end after the Deep Well steadied. That, more than anything, unsettled people.
Disaster was familiar. Collapse made sense. Even tyranny had a shape you could press your hands against and curse. But continuation—quiet, altered continuation—left space for thought. And thought, Aren was learning, could be far more dangerous than fear.
The morning after his return, the city woke into a cautious calm. Vendors reopened stalls. Messengers resumed routes. Children chased each other across stones that still remembered shaking. From a distance, life looked unchanged. Up close, it carried the subtle tension of a held breath that had not yet been fully released.
Aren felt it everywhere.
He sat on the steps of the council hall, hood pulled low, watching people pass without meeting his eyes. Some recognized him immediately and looked away. Others stared too long, curiosity sharpening into speculation. No one approached.
