The grey city was still.
The fog had pulled back so far it was barely a line on the horizon. The buildings stood sharp.
Sari walked toward him. When she stopped, the distance between them was small.
“The old woman,” he said.
“She's still there. Still watching. Still afraid.”
“She warned you.”
“She wants to help. But she can't speak.”
“Why not?”
Sari thought about the compound, the guards, the way people looked at the ground when Mbah Ratu passed. The silence wasn't just fear. It was training.
“Because she's seen what happens to people who talk.”
He nodded slowly. “Then your dream is telling you something.”
“What?”
“Your dream—the fog, the poison—it's not random. It's connecting what you see during the day to what you need to understand.”
“You think my dreams are trying to help
