Denver stared at the mural. It was new, as far as she could tell. She wasn't too far from the Tower, physically, which a month ago would have surprised her, but Enna didn't have to hide anymore. Vox Parva could paint wherever she liked. Denver wished she had a calling like that. Instead she had the already far-away memories of a temporary home with two men who had become her brothers, and further still of a museum and documents and artifacts and a lost dream.
Denver had no idea what she was doing, besides looking for the artist formerly - currently? - known as Vox Parva. All of Denver's friends and family were unaccounted for - the only people Denver was sure were even alive were the ones in the Tower. Which meant that, despite how loathe Denver was to do it, she had to get back there. She had to, legally this time, get back into the Tower, and figure out what her life looked like now. And for that, she needed help, from Enna, the only Vox she could trust.
(Well, Enna and Cain. If Cain had ended up Vox after all.)
She turned, determined to wander the streets around the Tower, which seemed much friendlier since Nerissa Snow was killed, but stopped less than a block over. Denver finally caught a lucky break.
"Enna," she called out, though still quiet, out of habit. She walked over slowly, uncertain what reception she'd meet even if she was sure Enna wouldn't kill her. "Fancy seeing you here."
@ennalydonsbee