We weren’t supposed to be out that night.

But something in Zephryn’s eyes said he had to know.

So we followed him. Past the orchard steps, past the crescent ridge, through a hole in the woven wall that lined the old market. Selka didn’t speak. She never did when things mattered most.

We found a ledge near the square.

The woman they brought to the platform looked like she had already bled out half her memory. Her hair was wild. Her eyes still burning.

The man who stood across from her wore a black cloak and no expression. We called him the Cantor. The voice of the Choir.

“Do you have anything left to say?” he asked.

The woman lifted her chin. Her lips barely moved.

But we heard her.

“If you seek the truth… if you want to remember… if you want to live—find the Fracture.”

Her words didn’t echo. They hummed. Like something older than sound.

Then the executioner raised the blade.

Zephryn’s hand clenched beside me. Not in fear.

In something deeper. Like he’d heard those words before.

That was the night the world stopped pretending.

And the last time the capital remembered Sarien’s name.

We didn’t know then…

That her hum would follow us forever.