The city smells of smoke and wet stone. The rain from last nighthas soaked the streets, leaving puddles that reflect fracturedsunlight like shards of broken mirrors. I step carefully overa fallen beam, boots slipping slightly on slick metal, and feelthe weight of the silence pressing against my ears. It's a quietthat isn't peaceful-it's the kind of quiet that signals danger ishiding somewhere, just out of sight.Lyra walks beside me, her hand brushing against mine, smallbut steady. I don't need her to speak; I can feel her tension assharply as my own. Every shadow seems to twist, every alleyfeels like it could hold someone-or something-watching us.And maybe it does.Elias moves ahead, scanning the broken city with eyes thatare both haunted and calculating. He pauses at the shatteredremains of a fountain, its bronze statue slumped and twisted, arm reaching skyward as though it had prayed and been ignored."The Dominion's gone," he murmurs, almost to himself.