The thought settled and passed without leaving a mark.
Caria's gaze followed the server only for a moment before drifting again, not to another person but to the space between them—the way the room held its shape without effort. She exhaled slowly, a breath that didn't signal relief or fatigue, just completion. When she shifted her weight, it was with the same quiet certainty that had guided her steps all day.
Puddle remained where it was, its presence steady and unobtrusive. A faint ripple traced its surface and faded, like a thought that had been acknowledged and released. It reflected nothing sharply now—not light, not motion—only the ambient calm of the room.
The lamplight deepened as another wick was trimmed somewhere nearby. Shadows adjusted themselves along the walls, lengthening but not darkening. The wayhouse seemed to settle further into itself, as if this hour were not a transition but a fulfillment.
