As the evening sky dimmed and the day slipped towards night, Luke returned to Mirela's house. The streets were quiet, with only a few stragglers heading home or closing up shop, their voices muted by the thickening dusk. His footsteps were steady, but his thoughts swirled with unease and determination.
Today had only scratched the surface. Luke knew that. All he had managed to do was gather fragments of old, failed attempts—echoes of other people's well-meaning but ultimately fruitless efforts to help Mirela. And while he appreciated the grave keeper's insights, they were, in the end, just stories of what hadn't worked. They were examples of mistakes that, in hindsight, seemed obvious.
