Nothing was out of the usual this morning. Nothing. Or at least that's what he was wanting to tell himself the moment he got out of bed, his worries regarding everything—his sisters, the fog, the upcoming festival, the public panic—immediately filling his mind from the moment his feet hit the floor. He was determined to let the summer pass by on its own accord, as he was firmly (and naively) under the belief that it would go away if he ignored it.

Except he couldn't—and today was the final nail in that coffin.

As he pushed back the curtains on his window, dread filled him at the sight of—well, nothing. He couldn't see anything through the thickness of the fog, prompting an immediately panicky response. He fled his room without another word, still clad in his pajamas, and across the hall to Clementine's door.

"Clemmy! Clementine! The fog—it's in Bartonburg!" he called, knocking rapidly on the wood.

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