Two days.
That’s how long it took for the city to stop looking like it was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Aria spent most of it in the infirmary. Not as a patient—though Mara tried—but as a pair of hands. She bandaged burns, carried water, sat with the kids who wouldn’t let go of their mothers’ sleeves.
The Debt was gone, but the fire hadn’t cared. People still needed help.
“Stop moving like you’re still down there,” Darian said on the second afternoon. He caught her wrist as she reached for another roll of linen. “You’re going to tear your stitches open.”
“I don’t have stitches,” Aria said.
“You should.” He tugged her toward the door. “Come on. Five minutes outside. No patients. No planning. Just air.”
She let him pull her out.
The courtyard behind the council hall had becom
