THE RIDE BACK — THROUGH THE NIGHT
No one spoke for the first hour.
Because there are some sentences that don't fit inside ordinary conversation.
**The Memorial Garden is gone.**
The words sat in all of us like glass.
Hooves pounded the road.
Wind tore at cloaks.
The sky above the northern route looked wrong—too clear, too empty, like the stars were waiting for instructions.
Sera rode ahead of all of us.
Not recklessly.
Not out of control.
Worse.
Perfectly controlled.
The kind of stillness that came when someone had moved beyond panic into decision.
I hated that stillness.
It usually meant she'd reached the point where fear stopped slowing her down.
Mira caught up beside me.
"You're thinking too loudly," she said.
I looked at her. "That's not possible anymore. I'm not on the anchor link."
"No. But apparently your face has become legible."
Wonderful.
I looked ahead at Sera.
"If they touched that place—"
