The Sunday that followed the festival was quiet, a day of collective recuperation. The victory at the ramen shop had left a lingering sense of accomplishment that permeated the apartment, making the silence feel less like an absence and more like a shared, comfortable peace.
Kofi woke up late, the sunlight already streaming through his blinds. For a moment, he forgot everything—Thea, Nina, the bonfire, the quests—and was just a normal sixteen-year-old on a weekend morning. The illusion lasted for about ten seconds before the weight of his new reality settled back onto his shoulders. It was a familiar weight now, less of a burden and more of a presence.
He got out of bed, pulled on a clean shirt, and walked out of his room. The apartment was still. He glanced at Thea's closed door. 'She's probably still sleeping. Or drawing.'
