The broken cathedral stood apart from the chaos of the square, its stone steps cracked and worn, its walls bearing the quiet weight of prayers long forgotten, as though even faith had once struggled to survive within its shadow.
Sarah found herself there without remembering how she had moved, her feet carrying her away from the clash that had consumed everything else, as if some deeper part of her needed distance—needed silence—to face what had begun to unravel within her.
Her breath came uneven, sharp at first, then slowing as she reached the base of the steps, her hands lifting briefly before falling again, unsure where to rest, what to hold, what to do with the storm inside her chest.
The wind brushed past her, softer here, though it carried echoes of the battle, distant yet persistent, a reminder that nothing had truly stopped.
