Aria’s POV
The morning after “after” felt wrong.
Not bad wrong. New wrong.
I woke and reached for my blade first, like always. Hand closed on empty blanket. Took me three seconds to remember: we don’t sleep with blades now.
The quarry was quiet. Real quiet. No Warden pulse. No hum from below. Just birds. Actual birds. I’d forgotten they made sound when they weren’t screaming warnings.
Ridah was already up. Making tea. Real tea, with leaves she’d saved ten years and never used. “Tastes like waste if we don’t survive,” she used to say. Today she poured me a cup.
“First thing,” she said, handing it over. Steam curled between us.
I took it. Burned my tongue. Laughed. Because I could.
Tav came down from the ridge with his arms full of stone flowers. He’d been carving all night. N
