The celebration lasted deep into the night.
By the time Clay finally returned to his room, the streets of the border town were still filled with laughter. Music drifted through the air. Guards were drinking with workers. Even Borzoi's loud voice could still occasionally be heard from somewhere in the distance.
It should have made him happy.
It should have helped him relax.
Yet for some reason—
The moment he entered his room, a strange heaviness settled over him.
Clay frowned.
"...Why do I feel tired all of a sudden?"
Not physically.
Something else.
Something he could not describe.
It felt as though an invisible pressure was sitting on his shoulders.
His mood suddenly became worse.
The feeling was irrational.
Nothing had happened.
The main character was dead.
The system said he was safe.
The town was peaceful.
Everything should have been perfect.
And yet—
The strange feeling refused to leave.
Maybe I'm overthinking again.
