The greenhouse by the old park smelled of wet earth and warm glass. In the evening, the lamps over the tables were extinguished and cardboard boxes with the words: "tenderness", "shame", "anger". The Emotions Workshop had been here since spring and Lena still wasn't used to the silence after the workshop. She collected her pencils, folded her chairs and tried to repeat in her mind the rule she had taught the children: by naming a feeling, you make room for it inside. As she reached for the Barometer case, her hand touched a void. The Emotion Barometer usually stood under a ficus tree: a glass sphere on a brass base, a thin pointer and a circle of colours that spilled out like ink. Now, instead of it, there was a brighter patch of dust. Lena felt heat in her cheeks, followed immediately by a chill in her stomach as if she had inhaled too deeply. She would have sworn she had closed the side door. She walked over and pressed the handle. It creaked softly; the wind slipped inside, moved the "joy" card as if to take it with her. "It's my fault" - she thought, and suddenly she heard a long, low sound from outside, as if the city had sighed. On the pavement, the streetlights blinked to the rhythm of her breathing. Lena stopped, counted to four, let the air out - the light faded and picked up again, just the same. A tram rang in the distance as she thought 'panic', and when she tried to call 'calm', the dogs in the two courtyards fell silent. This was no coincidence. Someone had connected the Barometer to the city's network, and now the whole city was reflecting someone else's feelings. Maybe hers, maybe someone else's; for a moment she had the feeling she was hearing strangers' laughter that she couldn't remember. The phone vibrated in her pocket. "If you want to regain your peace, follow the light," a message from an unknown number proclaimed. The lights of the lampposts formed a clear path along the park, then across the bridge over the river, where the water swelled with a black sheen. Lena turned on the loudspeaker and called Iwa. "Don't go alone," - he said. "I don't have time to wait." - she replied, watching the neon sign above the empty bakery flash the word 'heat' as she remembered her grandmother's morning hug. The mural on the wall said: "Learn from sadness", the letters blinking the way she blinked when she didn't want to cry. The city dragged her further, towards a neighbourhood she didn't frequent at night, where the asphalt remembered the weight of old trucks and unfulfilled promises. The path stopped under an old water tower. The iron door was ajar and a chill came from inside with the smell of wet metal and rain on the bricks. The phone vibrated a second time. "Take only what you really feel." Inside was semi-darkness; the light pulsed evenly like someone's pulse, and a whisper-like murmur came from the pipes. In the middle, on a violin case, stood the Barometer. In the glass, instead of its reflection, scrolled the faces of strangers, their tears, laughter and short, flashing words: "grief", "gratitude", "anger". The pointer twitched violently, though Lena felt only fear and breath in her throat. "Who else here feels?" - she whispered. A quiet whisper answered her from the dark shaft: "Lena..." - and then all the lanterns outside went out simultaneously.