Chapter 160: The Street That Listened
Mercer's Row did not fall silent all at once.
It never did anything all at once.
But as the broadcast from the scrying veil shimmered high above the capital—hovering like a second sky made of light and intention—the noise of the street began to thin in uneven waves, as though the city itself were learning when to breathe and when to hold its breath.
Outside the Tallow and Tide, where the tavern spilled warmly into the street, Helen had arranged benches dragged out from inside, mismatched chairs borrowed from whoever had been willing to lend them, and barrels turned upside down to serve as makeshift tables.
It was not elegant.
It was not meant to be.
It was lived-in, practical, and unapologetically theirs.
