Chapter Eighty-Nine – The Rhythm of the Fully Awakened Morning
By the time the sun had risen high enough to cast sharp lines through the window, the room had changed again. Shadows that once stretched across the floor were now precise and narrow, almost geometric, cutting across the table and chair legs with quiet authority. The city beyond the glass was no longer muted; it moved now with a pulse that could be felt as much as heard.
The person sat at the table, a cup of coffee cooling slowly between their hands. The surface of the liquid reflected a bright square of sunlight from the window an unmoving light that quivered slightly each time they breathed. They didn’t rush to drink it. The warmth in their palms, the faint aroma rising and fading, felt more essential than the taste itself.
