He did not go anywhere.
After removing his hand from the Continuity Anchor, the man simply remained there, staring at his own fingers as though waiting for some instruction to appear through them. The metal had gone dark. The six chairs remained empty. Sylphie's roots still crossed the joints of the structure to prevent any involuntary reconnection, and Umbra's shadows occupied the old distribution channels like silent plugs.
Above them, Obrin had stopped repeating the past.
No footsteps crossed the streets.
No nonexistent cart traveled over rusted rails.
Even the hundreds of voices that had answered moments earlier had withdrawn, not because they had been erased, but as though they finally no longer needed to compete to be heard before some correction removed them again.
Seraphine remained beside the man without touching him.
"You don't need to do anything."
He raised his eyes.
"That feels wrong."
"Probably because they never allowed it to feel any other way."
