By the time Reika's key slid into the penthouse lock, the city had climbed fully into day. Sunlight rolled off the high towers like slow water, and the hoverlanes sang their thin, constant thread under the glass. The smell of pancakes still hung in the kitchen, the kind of domestic evidence that makes a house feel like an argument you've already won.
The door clicked. Reika stepped in with her usual quiet economy: shoes lined up, coat folded once over her arm, tablet tucked under her elbow. Violet hair pinned back, violet eyes taking the room's temperature in a second. She looked at the banner slouched on the wall, the blue roses gathering light, the two mugs on the table. Then she looked at me.
"Welcome home," I said.
"Master," she replied, and the formality warmed the space between us rather than cooling it. A small smile tilted her mouth. "You look… rested."
"I am," I said, and let that be enough explanation for now.
