The quiet after the duel wasn’t silence; it was the world catching its breath through its teeth. Ink-mist drifted over the stubble like torn veils; black feathers lay scattered as punctuation—commas, em-dashes, ellipses where ravens had broken and fled. The rectangle where Lena and the Reviser had stood was gone, blown to glittering scraps that curled as they settled the way paper does when a careless candle wins.
Lena couldn’t find the word for down. She felt only edges—the thumb-cut of a page. Bone creaked like a book’s spine under load. Fire licked the bottom of her lungs, then guttered. Storm ticked at her teeth. Still here, she thought, and tried to make it true.
“Easy,” Dominic said, and made down for her. His voice was door-sure. He sank to one knee, then the other, taking her wei
