The morning after my vigil on the ledge, the Watch felt different. The stone walls no longer seemed just cold but watchful. The hushed conversations of soldiers weren't just routine reports but the low hum of a hive before a storm. The ghost of Kaelen's sacrifice had settled into my bones, a cold companion that sharpened my senses to every detail of this world I was trying to enter.
I found myself in one of the Watch's common halls, a vast, vaulted space warmed by a central firepit large enough to roast an ox. The air smelled of smoke, cured meat, and wet wool. I was attempting to mend a torn strap on my travel pack, a simple task that kept my hands busy and my mind from circling the abyss of last night's thoughts.
"Stitch is too tight. It'll bite into the leather and weaken it."
