Meera sat on the terrace steps with her back against a broken column, sleeves rolled past her wrists, staring at her own hands.
She turned them over slowly, as if checking they were still hers.
Ira approached and sat beside her, careful not to crowd her.
"They feel different," Meera said.
"Your hands?"
"Everything," she replied. "My hands. My head. The space around me."
She rubbed her palms against her jeans. "When I close my eyes, I can tell where the open parts of the city are. Not locations. Just… places where it doesn't feel finished."
Ira felt the familiar stirring in her chest.
"When did that start?"
"Last night," Meera said. "After you touched the wall again. I thought I was just tired. But when I woke up, it was still there."
She glanced at Ira. "It's like knowing when a room's too quiet. Or when someone's behind you without hearing them."
Ira leaned back on her hands, watching the pale light move across the stone.
"What does it make you feel?"
Meera's mouth tightened. "Like I can't go back."
The honesty of it landed between them.
"I don't want to become part of this place," Meera continued. "I don't want to be useful to it."
Ira turned toward her. "You're not useful. You're present."
Meera shook her head. "That's worse."
A faint, almost disbelieving laugh left her. "I can feel when it notices me."
Ira's breath slowed.
"Where?" she asked.
Meera lifted her hand and placed it lightly against her ribs. "Here. Like something shifts when I move."
Ira closed her eyes.
She extended her awareness gently.
She felt it.
A faint but distinct responsiveness in the city's deeper rhythm. A new reference point where Meera sat.
Not a tether.
A recognition.
The city had not claimed her.
It had included her.
Ira's fingers curled against the stone.
This was not what she had intended.
Meera's voice softened. "I don't think it's trying to hurt me. But I don't think it knows how to let me leave."
Ira looked at her.
"We'll figure it out," she said.
Meera nodded, though her eyes remained uncertain.
"I don't think this place is a cage," she said quietly. "I think it's… a decision that never learned how to end."
The words struck Ira with unexpected force.
Because they were true.