After two days in Austmark, Lucian and Alice learned its routine.
The town stirred before sunrise, and Lucian awoke to the scent of pine needles and cold wind blowing from his window. Then he checked the weather outside his window.
The village square looked too clean—nearly sterile in its perfection. Cobblestone streets gleamed like they'd been polished much too often, and the chalk lines from the previous Harmony Walk was already a faint memory on the pavement.
This is what someone's idea of a perfect little town is. Completely functional, yes, but everyone we saw yesterday was completely miserable. Is this really for the good of all?
He turned to Alice, still asleep, and left a note on the nightstand.
Going out for some air.
+
He stepped outside, boots crunching softly on gravel, and ran his fingers across a fading footprint etched into the square.
They walked these same steps over and over, rehearsing their peace like lines in a play.
