The sound lasts for miles. Birds fall silent in respect. The moon flickers.

So she folded herself smaller. Smaller. Until her spine curved like a bow. Until her voice became a polite, airless thing.

Her shoulder blade aches. Not with pain—with memory. A phantom weight where wings almost were. She touches the skin there, and for a second, it feels like velvet over bone. Like the dream is not finished with her yet.

She whispers, I’m sorry I take up so much space.

And then—