Chapter 11: The Kind of Absence You Don’t Name

Kaelira Voss was not someone who waited.
Not really.
Waiting implied expectation, and expectation had a habit of turning into disappointment if left unchecked. She preferred patterns, routines, things that could be relied upon without needing to think about them too much.
Riven had, over time, become something close to that.
Not predictable in the strict sense—he came and went, disappeared into the Tower for hours or days, returned with dust on his boots and half-finished thoughts—but consistent enough that his absence was usually temporary, never uncertain.
So when he didn’t show up that evening, Kael didn’t think much of it.

The market had already begun to thin when she closed her stall, packing away the day’s goods with the same steady rhythm she always used. The shard remained tucked safely in her bag, untouched since she had wrapped it earlier. She didn’t take it out again. There was no point without someone to compare it against, and Riven would likely have something to say about it once he saw it.
If not useful, then at least inconvenient.
That was usually his approach.
Kael adjusted the strap of her bag and headed out, her thoughts already moving on to the next day’s work. Riven would come by then. He usually did. If not in the morning, then later.
It wasn’t something that required attention.

The next day arrived the same way most did—loud, crowded, full of people pretending the world made more sense than it actually did.
Kael set up her stall, arranged her goods, and began trading without hesitation. The rhythm came easily. Buyers came and went, prices were negotiated, materials were tested and accepted or rejected based on what they did rather than what they claimed to be.
Normal.
Functional.
Unremarkable.
Riven didn’t show up.

It wasn’t enough to matter.
Not yet.
Kael noted it the same way she noted everything else—briefly, without attaching weight to it.
He had his own work. His own routes. Sometimes he stayed inside longer than expected. Sometimes he avoided the market altogether if he didn’t have anything worth bringing out.
There were explanations.
Plenty of them.

By midday, she had stopped expecting to see him.
Not because she was concerned.
Because she had adjusted.
Expectation removed. Pattern updated.

“Where’s your shadow today?”
Kael glanced up at the voice, finding Dain leaning against the edge of her stall with his usual casual disregard for personal space.
“I don’t have a shadow,” she said.
“The climber,” he clarified. “The one who hovers around like he’s got nothing better to do.”
Kael shrugged lightly. “He does have better things to do. That’s why he’s doing them.”
Dain snorted. “Fair.”

The conversation didn’t go further than that.
It didn’t need to.

By evening, nothing had changed.
No sign of Riven. No message. No indication that anything was out of the ordinary beyond his absence.
Kael packed up her stall again, movements steady, controlled, unaffected.
He would be back tomorrow.
There was no reason to think otherwise.

The second day passed much the same.
If anything, it was quieter.
The market had fully settled into its new rhythm by now, and whatever unease had lingered before had been absorbed into routine. People no longer questioned every inconsistency; they worked around it, adapted to it, treated it as part of the cost of dealing with the Tower.
Kael did the same.
She traded, observed, adjusted.
She didn’t take out the shard.
She didn’t ask questions.
She didn’t look for Riven.

But she noticed.
Of course she did.
The absence was there, even if she didn’t name it.
A space where someone usually stood, leaning against her stall, making unnecessary comments. A silence where there would normally be a passing remark or an idle observation. A lack of interruption that made the day feel… smoother.
Too smooth.

By the end of the second day, she had already decided on the explanation.
Busy.
Inside longer than usual.
Delayed.
None of those required further thought.

“You’re working more quietly.”
Kael glanced at Lera, who had stopped by with a small bundle of herbs.
“I always work quietly,” she said.
“Not like this,” Lera replied. “Less talking.”
Kael took the bundle, inspecting it with a practiced glance. “That sounds like an improvement.”
Lera studied her for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Maybe.”

The conversation moved on.
As they always did.

That night, Kael didn’t think about it.
Not directly.
She ate, rested, went through the day’s transactions in her head the way she always did, noting what had gone well and what needed adjusting.
Routine.
Structure.
Control.

On the third day, she adjusted again.

It wasn’t a decision.
Not consciously.
More like a shift.
A small one.
Barely noticeable.

“Have you seen Riven?”
The question slipped into conversation as easily as anything else.
No weight behind it.
No urgency.
Just another part of the exchange.

The vendor she asked shrugged. “Not recently.”
Kael nodded. “Alright.”
That was enough.

A little later, she asked someone else.
“Riven been through here?”
“No.”
“Okay.”

It continued like that.
Scattered.
Unfocused.
Casual.

She didn’t repeat the question to the same person twice.
Didn’t linger on the answers.
Didn’t react when they all came back the same.
No.
Haven’t seen him.
Not today.
Not yesterday.
Maybe earlier in the week.
Not sure.

Each response was noted.
Filed away.
Added to a pattern that she wasn’t fully acknowledging yet.

Dain noticed first.
Of course he did.
“You’re asking about him,” he said, leaning against her stall again.
Kael didn’t look up from the item she was testing. “I ask about a lot of things.”
“Not like this.”
She set the item down, brushing her hands lightly.
“It’s casual,” she said. “Don’t make it interesting.”
Dain watched her for a moment, then shrugged. “If you say so.”
“I do.”

He didn’t push it further.
Most people didn’t.
Kael had a way of ending conversations before they became something else.

But she kept asking.
Not often.
Not enough to draw attention.
Just enough.

By midday, the answers hadn’t changed.
By evening, they hadn’t improved.

Kael packed her stall again, slower this time.
Not noticeably.
Just enough that she finished after most others had already left.

The market emptied around her, voices fading into the distance, leaving behind the familiar quiet that came at the end of every day.
She adjusted her bag, checking its weight out of habit.
The shard was still there.
Unchanged.
Unexamined.
Waiting.

“…Tomorrow,” she murmured.

Because that was still the most reasonable answer.

Riven would be back tomorrow.

He had to be.