The morning began in fog. Not only outside, where gray veils hung over the houses, but also within Lina. Every movement felt heavy, as if she were moving through water. The images from the night still clung to her: Alaric in the lantern light, the coldness in his voice, that last moment when he turned and walked away.
She walked to school faster than usual, but her steps hesitated before each entrance, as if testing whether she was strong enough to enter. The hallways seemed emptier than usual, though they were full of voices. Shadows moved along the walls, and every click of shoes made her flinch.
And yet she hoped – every time a door opened, when someone came up the stairs – that he would be there.
He was there.
In the back, as always, hood half-covering his face, shoulders still, eyes fixed forward. When she entered the room, something in his posture twitched, barely visible, but she felt it. Like a quiet echo that only she could hear.
