The city doesn't sleep anymore.
Not after what happened in the plaza. Not after the bone-threaded shadow screamed and cracked against the light. Word spreads faster than fire—some call it rebellion, some call it a miracle. Most don't know what they saw.
But they *felt* it.
I walk through the lower markets with Sov, hood low, steps quiet. Not masked, not armored. Just present. Watching what the silence has become.
Sellers hawk their goods with hushed voices. Children point at the cracked stones in the square and whisper about the figure who rose from the Vault. One boy sketches a mask into the dust with a stick.
"They think you're a ghost," Sov murmurs.
"They're not wrong."
He stops beside a stall selling bent spoons and rusted keys. "We've tracked the last of the rival's echoes into the Spine District. They're gathering survivors. Threadless, mostly."
"Organizing?"
"Trying. The structure's broken, though. No voice to command them."
"They'll find another," I say.
Sov glances sideways. "Unless we offer them one."
I raise an eyebrow.
He continues, "Not you. Not me. Someone *willing* to build instead of burn. You said it—this isn't just about hunting anymore. It's about reshaping."
He's right. But the thought grates.
Rebuilding means trusting. Delegating. Choosing hands other than mine.
"Any names?" I ask.
"One." Sov lowers his voice. "Nera."
"The seal-holder?" I frown. "She barely speaks."
"Exactly. She listens. The Threadless respond to presence, not noise. She walks through fire without flinching."
I think of Nera during the battle. Her stitched mouth glowing. Her silence deeper than mine.
"Not yet," I say. "But maybe."
We move again, deeper into the underlayers of Stonefold.
The Vault echoes in my ring. Not loud. Just a hum. Like it's… aware of where I am. Aware of *what* I'm doing.
"I still don't trust the city," Sov mutters.
"Neither do I," I say. "But it's starting to trust *me.* That's worse."
We reach the broken stairwell where Wren waits, arms crossed, hair wind-tossed. She looks different now. Steadier.
"They've been watching you," she says.
"Who?"
"Everyone. Children, merchants, nobles. Some look at you like a weapon. Some like a story."
"And you?"
She smiles faintly. "I see someone who's still deciding."
She's not wrong.
The Vault watches from below. The city watches from above.
And between them, I stand.
Neither ruler nor ghost.
But something new.
Something coming.