[Log Entry 22:47] The raft nudges the reeds as if trying to confess something, its silence heavier than the mist. No oars, no tether, just a single clay lantern breathing citrus-colored fire. Smoke coils skyward, forming those letters again—*Where Vojta?*—like a vow recited to an unseen altar. My hands ache from gripping the dock, every tendon reminding me how close I lean to the dark water. I imagine his heels lifting from this deck hours ago, the ritual humming low in his throat, faith simmering hotter than the flame that’s all that remains. Further out, ripples spiral toward a channel that swallows light. Somewhere in that hush, laughter mingles with dread—I can almost hear both. We keep setting the lanterns, convinced the river will answer. Tonight, like every night, it only drinks, and Vojta stays elsewhere, beyond reach and reason.