It's hard to feel confident, though. Something about the atmosphere makes it difficult to stride confidently. You find yourself creeping along, keeping a wary eye on the shadows.
"I thought it went reasonably well tonight," Diar says. Her voice sounds muffled by the fog.
"For some value of reasonably well," you say.
"Early rehearsals are always rocky. I wouldn't worry about it. We've had some wild rehearsals for plays that did all right in the end."
Diar's voice seems to be coming from a long way away. You peer through the fog. A moment ago, you thought you saw someone ahead, someone else in a cloak walking toward you, but now you don't see them. It was probably just another late pedestrian hurrying home, right?