The morning rose with amber stillness, rooftops bathed in copper light. The market stirred in measured cadence, steps too careful, hands too tight. Michael stirred and checked the map. "Shall we see what’s left unseen?" James thumbed through the paper, "Local news—dull as can be." Nothing gleaned Judith nodded, still uneasy, though the thought felt hard to place. Nothing wrong—yet something bothered her, though this seemed a normal space. The market filled with careful words, taboo thoughts were skirted, Men in tailored coats passed silent, every gaze averted, No one spoke or blocked their passage, backs grew stiff as they drew near. A mother gripped her child’s fingers, pulled them close, then disappeared. Michael watched as hands fell idle, merchants turned their faces white. A butcher, mid-stroke with his cleaver, let it hover, averted might. Judith scoffed and crossed her arms. "What, the rich get royal treatment?" James just frowned and shook his head. "No, they're just being decent." Judith stepped toward a vendor, nodded, asked in a hushed voice "Who are they?"—but found no answer, a deliberate choice. The old man wiped his hands, avoided where her steady gaze had set. "The rain comes early," he muttered low. "The roads will flood—best not forget." James exhaled and whispered sharper. "You saw that, right? The way he turned?" Michael shrugged. "Guess folks are nervous. Small towns always act reserved." The town grew dim with dying embers, lanterns flickered, doors drawn tight. The larger buildings left untended, but the church now burned with light. But none would look, and none would answer, none acknowledged what was there. And those who held the town in iron—nowhere found, vanished in thin air. Judith watched the chapel glowing, turned and sought the crowd’s reply. "Who still tends the church at midnight?"—only met with a goodbye. Judith puzzled, wonders loud, "Is this just some strange dream?" A passer-by hands her a note, "Stay to paths where lights still gleam." "There is no chapel." the man said and left. Judith huffed, tired of the games. A town of windows, drawn and vacant. A town of mouths that spoke no names. Judith turned and met the others, something hollow in her chest. The town still smiled, still stood, still breathed —but something festered, coiled, and slept.
