Arthur’s POV
The day after Tyla tells me the Veil is gone, nothing happens.
No tremor.
No ripple.
No sudden correction from a universe realizing it has misplaced something essential.
Morning arrives exactly as it should—soft light through the window, the faint sound of someone arguing with a stubborn door hinge somewhere below, the smell of bread burning just slightly because no one ever times it right.
I wake with a strange tension in my chest, the kind that once meant danger.
Now it means change has already happened.
I watch Tyla while she sleeps.
Not the way I used to—counting breaths, bracing for nightmares, listening for the sharp intake of air that meant the Veil had pulled her somewhere painful. She sleeps like a woman whose body is no longer braced for impact. One arm flun
