The message appeared at dawn.
Marcus had been standing vigil in the clock tower, watching the sun rise over Havenport. It had become his ritual, his way of staying connected to the memory of Noah. The city was beautiful in the morning light, full of hope and promise.
But the message changed everything.
It was carved into the wall where the doorway had once been. Deep, precise, as though made by a steady hand. The letters were ancient, unfamiliar, but as Marcus looked at them, they seemed to shift, to rearrange themselves into something he could understand.
THE SOURCE IS GONE. BUT THE SPACE BETWEEN REMAINS. AND IN THAT SPACE, SOMETHING IS GROWING. SOMETHING THAT WAS SEALED WITH THE SOURCE. SOMETHING THAT HAS BEEN WAITING FOR THIS MOMENT.
Marcus touched the carving. It was cold, smooth,
