Waiting carried its own weight. Heavier than action. Harder than fear. It pressed into the hours and slowed the passing of light. The town moved carefully through the day. People spoke less. Listened more. Every sound felt amplified by expectation. Even footsteps seemed deliberate. Ilyra remained among them. Not hidden. Not elevated. Present. She understood now that visibility mattered. Calm could be shared without words.
Liora approached her near the outer well. Her expression held no urgency. Only certainty. This was how balance was taught. Through patience. The presence beyond the hills did not push today. It observed. Adjusted. Learned. That knowledge unsettled Ilyra more than open threat. Caelen spent the afternoon reinforcing the boundary stones. Not with magic. With effort. Hands against earth. Sweat earned honestly. This work mattered.
As dusk settled Ilyra walked the perimeter alone. The borrowed body responded naturally now. Movement felt aligned. No resistance. No strain. She paused at the far marker where the land dipped low. Awareness expanded just enough to sense the presence. It acknowledged her in return.
Not hostility. Recognition. Waiting was not weakness. It was preparation without haste. As night deepened Ilyra returned to the town and rested. Sleep came lightly but it came. Somewhere beyond the hills something waited as well.
And when waiting ended it would end for both of them.