The nights were colder now.
Not just the air…
but everything.
The tent was small.
Too small for all of them.
The wind slipped through the thin fabric,
whispering sounds that made Jory hold her breath.
Outside, the world never truly slept.
Voices.
Steps.
Distant cries.
Jory lay beside her mother,
eyes wide open in the dark.
She didn't draw at night anymore.
Her colors felt too loud…
for a world that had become so quiet.
"Baba…" she whispered,
barely louder than the wind.
"Will the sky be okay again?"
Her father didn't answer right away.
He was sitting near the entrance,
watching the night like it might break again.
Then he turned.
And smiled.
A small smile…
the kind that tries to be strong.
"Yes," he said softly.
"It will."
Jory looked at him for a long moment.
She wanted to believe him.
So she closed her eyes…
and imagined a sky without fear.
In her mind,
there were no white lines.
No falling fire.
Only blue.
And light.
And space wide enough
for dreams to breathe again.
That night,
Jory didn't sleep.
But she wasn't afraid.
She was drawing.