The city was loud again.
Not with panic this time. With hammers, with voices calling out measurements, with children running through streets that had been empty for days. Virell was rebuilding itself, piece by piece, without waiting for permission.
Aria watched it from the roof of the council hall.
She hadn’t slept. Not really. She’d dozed for an hour in the room off the barracks, woken up to the sound of Darian’s breathing, and decided that was enough. Her body disagreed. Her head was light, her hands shook if she didn’t clench them.
Darian found her at dawn, two cups of tea in his hands and a blanket slung over his shoulder.
“You’re going to fall off,” he said, setting the cups down and wrapping the blanket around her shoulders.
“I’m fine,” Aria said. She took the tea anyway.
