The lamp came on with a small, entirely unheroic flicker.
Lyra saw it from the relay house window. The ordinary lane fitting had been held off under the reduced schedule, beyond the essential lights that had kept the approach usable. Now its cloudy shade glowed over a patch of paving and the public service board.
A resident put away her candle and leaned close enough to read the new notice.
That was what the light did first.
A worker checked the shade’s loose fastening before the man carrying celebration ribbon could hang anything from it.
“Later,” the worker said.
The man looked disappointed by the scale of the obstacle.
Lyra returned to the operating record.
