Tyla’s POV
The first time I realize the world no longer flinches, it happens when I trip.
It’s stupid. Ordinary. A raised stone on the east stair, one I’ve walked a hundred times. My foot catches, my balance goes, and I pitch forward with a sharp intake of breath already preparing for impact.
Hands grab me.
Not magic. Not a Mark-flare. Just people.
A woman with paint-stained sleeves steadies my elbow. A boy barely past ten catches my basket before it spills. Someone laughs—not unkindly, just surprised—and asks if I’m all right.
“I am,” I say, startled by how true it is.
No one bows. No one stares.
They go back to their lives.
I stand there a moment longer than necessary, heart beating fast, and feel something loosen inside my ribs.
The world caught me.
—
Arthur is in the lower
