No one announces the return.
People come back the way weather does—unevenly, without ceremony, carrying traces of where they’ve been in their posture and speech. Some arrive alone. Others in pairs or small groups that didn’t exist before the room without a center. They don’t line up. They don’t seek permission.
They just… step back into the city.
The first to return does not go to the river.
She goes home.
Her pack is lighter than when she left, her boots worn thin at the heels. She hugs her sister without explanation, eats what’s offered, sleeps hard. In the morning, she repairs a fence that’s been leaning for weeks and doesn’t mention where she learned the new bracing technique.
Someone notices.
No one asks.
The shadow coils, observant.
Practice returns disguised as habit.
By m
