The night after the Resonance was quieter than any before it.
No more rushing sounds, no humming in the walls, just a hesitant breathing of the world, as if it had forgotten how silence works.
Alaric sat at the edge of the ruin, his gaze fixed on the darkness. The sky above the city was clear, yet the light in the west still glowed—a weak, pulsating red that wouldn't fade.
Behind him, someone moved quietly. Footsteps, barely audible.
Lina.
She wore clothes made of fabric again, not of light. That was new—and somehow reassuring. But her skin still shimmered, as if the gold had burned itself into her.
"You're not sleeping?" she asked.
"I can't."
"Because you're afraid I'll disappear?"
"Because I can feel you've already half done it."
She sat down beside him, so close that their shoulders almost touched. The air between them shimmered.
"I'm still here," she whispered.
"Still," he repeated. "But what are you now, Lina? Human? Frequency? Both?"
