I couldn't sleep.
Every time I closed my eyes, I felt where the city no longer fit the way it used to.
Not broken.
Rearranged.
I walked alone through one of the lower corridors, barefoot now, because I needed to feel the stone. It was warmer in some places. Colder in others. The difference used to be meaningless.
Now it wasn't.
The city responded differently when I passed.
Not dramatically.
But attentively.
That terrified me.
I stopped near a narrow opening that looked out into one of the older terraces. Pale light drifted through distant arches. The place felt unfinished, like a sentence left half-written.
"You're not supposed to be awake alone."
Devansh's voice.
I didn't turn. "Neither are you."
He came to stand beside me.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
"The city didn't close again," I said quietly.
"No," he agreed. "It adjusted."
"And it will keep adjusting," I said. "Because now it knows something can touch it from the outside."
"Yes."
"And because of me," I added, "it also knows it can answer."
He looked at me then.
"That is what changes everything," he said.
I rested my forearms on the stone.
"I'm not afraid of them," I said. "I'm afraid of what I'm turning this place into."
Devansh considered that.
"For centuries," he said, "Vayukshi existed to prevent consequence. You are introducing it."
I closed my eyes.
Somewhere behind my ribs, the heaviness shifted again — not heavier, not lighter.
More awake.
"They're coming," I said.
"Yes."
"And next time," I whispered, "someone won't walk away from it."
Devansh didn't deny it.
The city's hum deepened, uneven and uncertain.
And far beyond its hidden boundaries, something else was already being assembled — not to observe, not to test…
…but to stay.