They both stared out into the open, the stars scattered like broken glass across the endless black.
Earth was just a small shape in all that space—still turning, still caught in its orbit like it always had been.
Life went on down there. Quiet. Unaware. A thousand eyes were watching it now, and it didn't even know.
"If this is what you really believe," she said softly, her voice barely more than a breath, "then you won't be the only one making a move."
He nodded once. "I know."
She paused, then added, "And if they really stand like you think they will…"
He didn't hesitate. "Then even gods will need to tread carefully."
The silence that followed wasn't heavy. It wasn't awkward or tense either. It was the quiet that settled in just before something big happened—before thunder rolls, before winds shift.
The moment that hangs there when the world seems to be holding its breath.
Then, without a word, she raised her hand.
No rush. No flourish.
