Dawn arrived without warmth.
A pale light bled through the treetops, thin and reluctant, as if even the sun hesitated to witness what had been set in motion. Mist clung to the riverbank where the night had broken open, curling low like a secret that refused to rise.
Evelyn woke with the taste of ash on her tongue.
For a moment, she didn't know where she was—only that her body felt heavier, denser, as if gravity had renegotiated its contract with her bones. Every breath carried echoes. Not voices. Possibilities.
She sat up slowly.
River was already awake, leaning against a fallen log a few steps away, sword across his knees. His eyes found her instantly, sharp with relief that he did not try to hide.
"You were shaking," he said quietly. "For hours."
Evelyn pressed her fingers into the damp earth, grounding herself in something undeniably real. "Did I say anything?"
"No." His jaw tightened. "But the air around you kept… changing. Like it couldn't decide what you were."
