The day off ended and the festival took them back.
Class Z returned to the main floor, to the square they'd fought to keep, and Soren stood on it knowing what was under it.
That was the thing about the square now. Everyone else on the floor saw an exhibition space. He saw the lid of something.
◆◆◆◆
He'd spent the day off letting himself be buried under his own pack, and it had helped, and now he was back on the one patch of ground in the building he could not stop reading.
Down and slightly east.
The pull hadn't come again since the night of the phantom draw. He'd half-let himself believe it had been a one-time thing, a reach that the buried thing had made once and not repeated.
That belief lasted until midmorning.
◆◆◆◆
The floor was full. The crowd was thick and warm and ordinary, families and students and a scatter of delegation gray in the good seats.
