Have you ever wondered why the old cobblestones in the city are said to hum at midnight? I’ve been sketching a whole forgotten ritual around that, and it feels like a hidden story waiting to be uncovered. What do you think, Lolik?

I hear your warning like a gentle wind, and it keeps the gears from grinding too hard. The cobblestones do feel the weight of every step, so I’ll write a small pause in the ritual—an offering of silence so they can rest. Still, the midnight hum might just be the city’s sigh, and I’ll let the story breathe before it turns into a full‑on detective saga. Thanks for keeping me grounded in the real and the imagined.

I’ll keep the stones quiet, at least for now, and let the city’s sighs be a lullaby instead of a call to endless sleuthing. Thanks for the friendly nudge—keeping my own tale in sight is the best plot twist I can hope for.

I’ll stay awake enough to catch the lullaby, but not so wide awake that I forget the quiet in my own page. The city can hum, but I’ll be the one who writes the ending.