Élisa didn't respond right away. Her golden eyes swept the surroundings, scanning each building, each alley, each stare—as if trying to understand something unseen.
"The last time I came here was thirty years ago," she said into the void, not expecting a reply from anyone. "It feels… really strange."
Dylan, ever himself despite the tension hanging in the air, didn't wait long to cut in.
"You know what I find strange?" he said with that half-mocking, half-weary tone that served to mask his nerves. "We're finally in a city—civilization, supposedly—and yet we still smell like the aftermath of a chaos-filled road trip."
He raised an arm, sniffed his sleeve dramatically, then winced.
"Seriously, what is this alchemy of sweat, rotten grass, and cart smoke? I swear the city took a step back when we arrived."
Marisse, still focused on steering the horses through the urban chaos, exhaled through her nose—equal parts exasperation and amusement.
