They bought their tickets without a word, the transaction completed with a smile and a nod to the cashier. As they passed through the turnstile, the world transformed once more.
The cacophony of the city was instantly swallowed by a profound, resonant hush, broken only by the low, rhythmic hum of filtration systems and the distant, watery echoes of the exhibits. The light shifted, dim and cool, emanating from the massive tanks themselves, casting everything in a shifting, aqueous blue.
It was here, in the cathedral-like quiet of the first gallery, that Khione linked her arm through his. It was not a tentative gesture, but a firm, possessive locking of her elbow with his, her hand resting comfortably on his forearm. It was an anchor, a tether in the semi-darkness, a silent declaration that in this peaceful, alien world, they were each other's constant.
