Caleb’s departure settles into the pack like fog.
Not dramatic.
No rupture, no sudden silence where his presence used to be loud enough to leave an echo. It arrives quietly, seeps into corners, softens edges without asking permission. People don’t stop what they’re doing. They don’t gather in knots to speculate or mourn. They just… notice. A subtle shift registers, then life keeps moving the way it always does when something ends without spectacle.
Lingering.
That’s the part that’s harder to track. Fog doesn’t announce itself. It doesn’t demand attention. It changes distance instead, blurs outlines that used to be sharp. Things are still there, just less defined than they were yesterday. The pack keeps functioning, but the rhythm is slightly off, like a familiar song played half a beat
