I don't know if planet-scale calamities count as ritual, [ Matt murmurs, dry. ] Or at least, I don't know if they count as ritual bloodletting.

[ The thought passes through his mind: Katy-Rose must be gone too. It feels like a message in sky-writing, thousands on thousands of feet overhead and impossible to wrap himself around. His left hand scuds over his cheek, where a hairline scar arcs; the gesture seems well-worn, one of those tics you don't realize you do all the time. ]

I'm Matt. [ A faint smile. ] Enjoy it while it lasts, I guess. What's yours?