# Interlude — Chapter 01: Naomi’s Ledger
Naomi writes with a twig where the ash is soft as flour. She presses each letter hard enough to feel the grit under her nails. When the wind lifts the name too quickly, she writes it again slower, the way Ezra taught rhythm—steady, not loud. Around her the mountains fold like sleeping animals; in the pocket of her jacket are the slate chips Ezra scratched with dots and dashes.
Tonight she tries the radio the way Ezra does, not calling for anyone in particular, just rocking the tuning through its slow breath. In the shallow of the static she hears a tick that is not sky. She answers with the smallest ‘A’ she knows. A reply comes back: **N**. She grins in the dark and finishes the word in the ash, then wipes it with her palm so the Beast can’t read the page in the morning.
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American Prophet 