Anger is loud.
Questions are not.
They show up afterward, when voices have quieted and bodies are tired. They linger in corners, in dishes being washed, in tools being mended, in the way someone pauses before speaking and then doesn’t.
Yesterday, the city gave anger somewhere to land.
Today, the questions come.
And they refuse to stay quiet.
Morning arrives soft.
The kind of soft that invites people to believe the worst is over.
The river runs calmly.
The markets open in their usual rhythm.
Children shout arguments over meaningless things and, blessedly, mean it.
From the outside, nothing looks like it has changed.
On the inside, everything feels… unfinished.
Kael feels it first.
Not in words.
In the way his body doesn’t know whether to relax or brace.
He wakes and doesn’t
