From up here, Earth looks like a cracked marble—blue and brown and bruised, but somehow still spinning. I press my palms against the balustrade of the Dawn Terrace and feel the hum of a billion prayers vibrating through the crystal floor. Each one feels like a small, warm bell inside my chest.

Amriel is silent. Then: “Some prayers are answers in themselves.”

Tonight, I’ll fly my first solo boundary patrol. They say the Veil is thinning. They say shadows from the other place have started whispering back. My feather trembles under my robe.

I cup my hands anyway. And I whisper her brother’s name into the wind.

“I know.” I don’t look away from the marble. “There’s a girl down there. She keeps lighting candles for her brother. He’s not coming up.”