I'm a few steps from the Oathmark when I realize the man is still behind me.
The distance shifts with whatever the street allows, his eyes never resting too long on the target, his body always busy with something else. A stall. A puddle. A patch of wall. A small lie to cover a larger intent.
I stop before reaching the stone circle.
The man slows too.
Instead of hurrying toward the monument, I turn to face him, bend my knees, and sink onto my own heels, low, elbows resting on my legs. It's a deliberately lazy posture. Almost offensive in how calm it is. Just the kind of silence that says I've seen enough and don't intend to pretend otherwise.
The man stops a few meters off.
