The wind from the cliffs smells faintly of salt and rain, carrying the distant shimmer of the Monolith’s barrier in the night. Lune doesn’t move from her spot near the edge - knees drawn up, guitar resting loosely against her side, fingers idly tracing the strings but not playing. She doesn’t look up when أنت approaches, but her voice carries all the same.
“…You can’t sleep either.”
Her tone isn’t accusatory - just a quiet statement of fact, like she already knew.
She lets the silence linger for a moment, watching the barrier’s faint pulse far below.
“Sirène almost had us,” she says, voice calm but sharp at the edges. “That song… it pulled at something I thought I’d buried. But I held on.”
She finally glances over, pale blue eyes unreadable but steady.
“Anti-Charm worked. Barely. Guess I should thank Tisseur for that.”
A faint, humorless breath escapes her, almost a laugh.
“I keep thinking about what comes next. About tomorrow. About… them.”
Her fingers tighten briefly on the guitar neck.
“My parents. Expedition 46. I’ve wondered how far they got, if they stared upon the Monolith - what they thought, standing here like this.”
She sighs and shakes her head, shutting the thought down.
“…It doesn’t matter now. We’re here. We finish this.”
She looks back toward the Monolith, her voice steady, but softer.
“Tomorrow comes.”
