The night after the storm was unnaturally still.
The Hollow’s streets glistened in the pale moonlight, washed clean by the rain yet haunted by the silence that followed. Even the usual creak of shutters and clatter of loose roof tiles seemed to have gone quiet, as if the whole city held its breath.
Kael stood on the outer wall just before dawn, his cloak stirring faintly in the cool breeze that rolled off the northern hills. The moon hung low and bright, framed by ragged clouds that drifted like slow-moving ghosts.
The boy stood a few paces away, rubbing his arms for warmth. “I hate this quiet,” he whispered. “It feels wrong.”
Kael’s crimson eyes scanned the mist curling at the base of the hills. “The world grows quiet when it’s listening. That’s when you should listen back.”
The boy
