Aurora walked quietly through the drifting mist.
The world around her felt thin. The ground under her feet was pale stone, cracked with black lines that pulsed faint light. Above, the sky rippled like liquid glass, stars bending and splitting as if reality itself was tired of holding their shapes.
She didn't look up. Her focus was ahead, where shadows moved between broken arches and fallen pillars. Her hair floated softly around her shoulders, dark strands flicking with each slow step. In her right hand, she held a crystal compass. Its needle spun lazily, unable to settle.
"It's close," she whispered.
Beside her walked Adam.
Or what she thought was Adam.
He moved with silent grace, robes drifting around his ankles without touching the dust. His gaze was fixed forward, unblinking, sharp. But his eyes were wrong. They held the right shape, the right colour, the right depth—but not the same warmth. Not the quiet sadness. Not the tired peace that always shadowed Adam's real gaze.
