The wind whispered across the rooftop, soft and mournful, as if echoing the silence that had stretched on for hours. Three women stood on the tiled peak of a modest house, their gazes locked on the small shop several meters away.
"Mother," Nova finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper, strained by concern and frustration.
"You know... if you want to see him, you can just go and talk to him directly. You've stared at the same brick wall for eight hours. I can see you want to see him. Just go."
The woman in front of her, imperial-straight posture and eyes the color of dark amethyst, did not budge.
"Go home if you're bored, Nova. I never ordered you to stay," The words were flat, clipped, commanding.
