Mira gave them a date before she gave them a reason to believe it.
“Before the third morning,” she said. “The lower river streets need to be clear.”
Eli stood with her in the courtyard behind the district hall, out of hearing of the volunteers bringing folding tables through the side entrance. He had expected another warning shaped around a future she alone claimed to remember. He had not expected the date to disagree so plainly with his own.
“The fourth,” he said quietly.
“If you wait for that, you’ll be late.”
“You don’t know what has changed.”
“Neither do you.”
The same answer again, as precise and useless as a knife pressed against a map. Inside the hall, someone dropped a stack of chairs. Mira looked toward the sound, then back at him.
