No one leaves the room the same way they entered it.
That becomes obvious almost immediately.
Morning light spills unevenly into the unfinished hall, revealing where people slept against walls or in corners, wrapped in coats or borrowed blankets. Some left during the night. Others stayed, not because they were told to, but because leaving felt unfinished.
The room does not call them back.
It simply remains.
The second day begins without a beginning.
No one clears their throat this time.
Conversation resumes where it broke off, overlapping, quieter now. Less performative. People speak with the exhaustion that follows honesty rather than the adrenaline that precedes it.
The shadow coils, attentive.
What is carried forward matters more than what is said aloud.
The city’s people arri
