(Solomon's POV)
Tomorrow vanished on a Tuesday.
Which, in retrospect, felt exactly like something Tomorrow would do.
The problem was—
Nobody found it funny at first.
I woke to shouting.
Not panicked shouting.
Confused shouting.
The sanctuary contained many varieties of chaos.
After several years of experience, one learned to distinguish them.
This was curiosity mixed with concern.
Never a good sign.
I stepped outside.
Immediately knew something was wrong.
The sky looked different.
Not broken.
Not damaged.
Incomplete.
Like a sentence missing its final word.
People filled the streets.
Pointing upward.
Talking rapidly.
Searching.
The First Dream stood in the center of the square.
Very still.
The Devourer beside her.
Equally still.
Neither expression inspired confide
