They do not resume conversation.
The words spoken earlier linger, then dissolve.
Laura keeps her gaze forward.
The sky shifts gradually.
She registers the color change — pale gold to muted amber — but does not assign meaning to it.
She does not check her phone.
That, later, will matter.
Voices pass behind them.
Footsteps on gravel.
Laughter.
A dog tugging against its leash.
Ordinary sounds.
They move through her awareness without sticking.
Normally, she categorizes background noise.
Identifies patterns.
Tracks disruption.
Now the sounds blur at the edges.
Axel is still beside her.
That fact remains constant.
He shifts occasionally.
Adjusts posture.
Breath steady.
She matches it unconsciously.
Their breathing falls into rhythm.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Not counted.
Not structured.
Just aligned.
Laura's thoughts feel slower.
Less precise.
She tries to return to logistics.
Interview preparation.
Question redirection strategies.
Media tone.
The thoughts do not organize.
They float.
Ungrounded.
She lets them.
That, too, is unusual.
The light thins further.
Amber fades to violet.
She notices the change in temperature before the change in color.
Cooler air along her forearms.
She does not react immediately.
A group of children run past again.
Different children.
She registers that only faintly.
Had it been that long?
The idea surfaces, then dissolves before she follows it.
Time is not linear right now.
It feels folded.
Axel stands briefly.
She does not track why.
He steps behind her.
A weight settles around her shoulders.
Fabric.
Warm.
His jacket.
She did not notice she was cold.
He does not say anything.
He does not ask.
He simply adjusts the collar lightly so it sits evenly.
Then returns to his seat.
No commentary.
No eye contact.
Laura registers the warmth gradually.
Like sensation returning to fingers after numbness.
She inhales more deeply than before.
The heaviness in her chest does not spike.
It softens slightly.
Streetlamps begin turning on one by one along the path.
She sees the glow without consciously acknowledging evening.
It feels like an environmental shift rather than a time marker.
The world adjusting around her.
Not moving forward.
Just dimming.
She rests her hands loosely between her knees.
Her posture is less rigid now.
Not collapsed.
Just… unguarded.
She cannot remember deciding to relax.
She cannot remember deciding not to leave.
The absence of decision unsettles her faintly.
But the discomfort is distant.
As if filtered through glass.
Axel's presence remains constant.
Not intrusive.
Not demanding.
He has not checked the time either.
She notes that.
He is not urging return.
He is not suggesting movement.
He is matching her stillness.
The sky is dark now.
Fully.
Laura does not remember when the last light disappeared.
That realization surfaces gently.
Then settles.
She does not reach for her phone.
She does not stand.
She does not comment.
She simply sits.
The park is nearly empty.
Only distant footsteps now.
Laura watches her breath appear faintly in the cooling air.
She notices it with mild curiosity.
As if observing someone else.
And still—
She does not move.