Tyla’s POV
The end of the world does not arrive.
That is the strangest thing of all.
No final test. No silver blaze splitting the sky. No moment where the Veil demands a last answer or reveals a hidden price hidden in the margins we were too tired to read.
The world simply… keeps going.
I realize this on an ordinary morning, standing barefoot in the kitchen while the kettle screams because Arthur forgot it on the fire again. He’s leaning against the counter, half-dressed, hair still sleep-tangled, staring out the window like the city might confess something if he watches long enough.
“You’re burning the water,” I tell him.
He blinks, startled back into his body. “Is that possible?”
“No,” I say. “But you’re trying very hard.”
He grins sheepishly and lifts the kettle, steam curling
