Diar hurries out ahead of the crew member who is extinguishing the last lights. "Thanks for waiting. I don't really want either of us to be walking home alone tonight, and I know I'm on your way."
"It's not a problem," you say. "It's just a couple of blocks. I'm happy to walk you home."
Inwardly, you're surprised. Diar has lived in Medaris her entire life, and she's never expressed that she was worried about walking alone at night, not in all the years you've known her. Not even when it might have been wise to worry. You don't usually go about armed except for your penknife, meant for sharpening quills rather than fending off attackers.
You both go out the box office gate, pulling it closed behind you. By the time you've gone half a block from the cresset at the box office gate, the fog has closed in, surrounding you. It makes the street seem surreal, for all that you've been this way a thousand times.
You bump into something and can't help flinching. It's only Diar.
"Sorry," she says. "Just thought we'd gotten turned around for a minute. As if we can't both find our way a couple of blocks from the Odeon. That's ridiculous, right? Go on, tell me it's ridiculous."
"It's ridiculous," you say obligingly. But Diar's right that the familiar shapes of buildings seem suddenly strange. One moment you're sure you can see eerie shapes twisting in the fog. The next, you're certain you're only looking at the shifting shadows.