Third POV
Elena felt it the moment the convoy crossed the river bridge into the upper district, the way the air pressed heavier against her skin, the way distant minds clustered like storm clouds instead of drifting freely.
To her, Mondrovia had always been noisy, a never-ending hum of feelings and ideas permeating the psychic realm. Neon lights flickered along narrow streets, suggesting the city's restless and vibrant undercurrents, while buildings rose with a gothic elegance, their spires piercing the skyline like sharp teeth.
A reminder of the city's constant motion, the smell of rain lingered in the air, blending with the sharp tang of industrial fumes. Tonight, that hum had sharpened into something tense and watchful. It was like the city was holding its breath and had become war-conscious.
