And slowly, as though time itself had grown wings, hours melted into days, and days slipped seamlessly into weeks. The weeks rolled over one another like gentle tides until they fused into months, months that seemed to vanish in the blink of an eye. The world outside Nix's estate had moved in a blur: leaves had fallen and bloomed again; the winds had changed their song from cold whispers to mild laughter; and now, at last, the calendar had arrived at the threshold everyone had been waiting for New Year's Eve.
The streets were alive with expectation. The city hummed like a living heartbeat distant fireworks testing the sky, laughter spilling from open bars, the air thick with the scent of roasted corn and sweet smoke. Time, it seemed, had been sprinting toward this night all along, dragging both joy and sorrow behind it, until the world stood on the edge of a new beginning.
But within that whirlwind of anticipation, one man seemed to wear a different kind of light. Nix Dean.
