Darkness did not break, it thinned.
Gradually-- almost reluctantly-- like something loosening its hold rather than releasing it entirely.
Sound returned first.
Faint. Distant. Uneven.
The low hum of the city. A passing vehicle somewhere far enough to be irrelevant. Wind brushing against leaves in uneven intervals, as though the world itself had to remember how to move again.
Then heat. The sweltering heat.
It pressed in all at once-- heavy, suffocating-- clinging to skin in a way that made the air feel thicker than it should have been. Not oppressive enough to panic. Just enough to remind how the world is.
They were back, but not unchanged.
Galathea Brooks inhaled sharply.
They were back to reality but the thought did not give comfort, never comfort.
