"Must be nice… look at her, making sleeping a sinful act."
A quiet chuckle followed.
Soft.
Conspiratorial.
"…Huh?"
I woke to voices.
Early.
Too early.
The light filtering through the curtains was still pale—dawn hadn't fully committed yet. My room smelled faintly of jasmine from the open window, mixed with the distant scent of street vendors already firing up their charcoal stoves below. The heat hadn't arrived yet, but I could feel it waiting.
"Good morning, Heiwa… Min," I mumbled, blinking at the two of them in my room.
Heiwa sat at the edge of my bed, already dressed in her crisp white blouse and dark skirt, hair pinned back with that silver clasp she always wore. Composed. Put together. Like she'd been awake for hours.
Min, on the other hand, was sprawled across Etsuko's bed like a cat claiming territory—still in her nightclothes, one arm draped over her eyes.
"Morning," Min said without moving. "What are you doing today?"
"…Walk," I answered.
The word came out flat.
Automatic.
She stared at me.
Even with her arm covering half her face, I could feel the judgment.
"Pay her no mind," Heiwa said, her tone gentle but firm. She smoothed the edge of my blanket absently, a small gesture that felt maternal. "You know how she is in the mornings—or any time of the day."
"…Yeah."
Min's voice carried the weight of someone who hadn't emotionally recovered from the act of waking up.
I understood.
"Ah, there you are—where's Etsuko?" Amihan asked, knocking twice before stepping in.
She was already dressed too, her hair tied back in a practical braid. The faint scent of soap clung to her—she must have bathed already. The dormitory only had two bathrooms for the entire floor, and the morning rush was always a calculated battle.
"Bathroom," Min replied, still not moving.
"Oh—good morning, Victoria."
"Morning."
Etsuko returned soon after, her hair damp and smelling of lavender soap. She moved quickly, efficiently, pulling clothes from the wardrobe and changing behind the folding screen in the corner.
The room filled with movement after that.
Voices overlapping.
The rustle of fabric.
Buttons fastening.
Small laughter over something Amihan said that I didn't quite catch.
Like a scene playing on fast-forward.
The kind of ordinary chaos that felt almost foreign now.
Almost normal.
And just like that—
they were gone.
The door clicked shut.
Silence returned.
Heavy.
Familiar.
I lay there for a moment longer, staring at the ceiling. The plaster had a crack running through it—thin, branching like a vein. I'd memorized its shape weeks ago during the nights I couldn't sleep.
The nights when my mind wouldn't stop replaying things.
Fragments.
Voices I didn't recognize.
Symbols I couldn't unsee.
I pushed the thought away.
Got up.
The floorboards were cool beneath my feet. I dressed slowly—simple cotton blouse, dark skirt, nothing that required much thought. My fingers fumbled with the buttons. They still did that sometimes.
Muscle memory interrupted by something I couldn't name.
By the time I got downstairs, the sun had already claimed the sky.
The heat was building.
Thick.
Humid.
The kind that clung to your skin and made breathing feel like work.
The common room was empty except for the faint smell of burnt toast someone had left behind. I moved into the small kitchen area, the tiles cool under my bare feet.
"Simple is fine," I muttered, putting together bread and butter.
The butter was soft—too soft. It tore the bread a little.
I didn't care.
Honey in my coffee.
Two spoonfuls.
The jar was nearly empty. I made a mental note to buy more, though I'd probably forget.
Anaita sat across from me at the small wooden table.
Watching.
She always watched.
Never ate.
Never spoke.
Just… present.
"Are you ready for another day of investigation?" I asked, taking a sip of the coffee.
Too hot.
I didn't care about that either.
She raised an eyebrow.
Then smirked.
That look.
The one that said she'd heard this before.
"I know, I know—I've said that for the past few days," I admitted, taking a bite of the bread. The honey was sweet. Almost too sweet. "But I have a feeling."
She didn't look convinced.
Her dark eyes stayed on me, unblinking.
Patient.
"I mean it this time."
I finished quickly.
Too quickly.
The bread sat heavy in my stomach, but I ignored it.
Outside, the streets were alive.
As always.
The city never rested—not really. Even in the early hours, it hummed with energy. Vendors calling out their wares in a mix of languages. The clatter of cart wheels on cobblestone. The distant whistle of a steam engine from the harbor.
The air smelled like salt and smoke and overripe fruit.
"Extra! Extra! Read all about it! Large-scale industrial accident at the coast!"
A boy—no older than twelve—stood on the corner, waving a newspaper above his head. His voice cracked on the word "accident," but he kept shouting.
I paused for half a second.
Just for a moment.
Industrial accident.
The coast.
My chest tightened.
Not again.
Then I kept walking.
"I'm in the mood for something sweet," I said instead, my voice steady.
Anaita walked beside me, silent as always.
The bookshop came into view after a few blocks.
Nestled between a tailor and a tea merchant, its faded sign swinging gently in the breeze. The windows were dusty, the paint peeling in places, but it had a kind of charm to it.
A refuge.
"Good morning, Mr. Gaspard," I greeted as I stepped in.
The bell above the door chimed softly.
Inside, it smelled like old paper and pipe tobacco. The air was cooler here—shaded by thick curtains and towering shelves.
"Ah, Victoria," he said warmly, looking up from behind the counter. His spectacles caught the light. "You've returned again."
"That I have."
He smiled—a small, knowing thing—and turned to prepare his coffee. The ritual was always the same. The small brass pot. The careful measuring of grounds. The slow pour.
Coffee.
Books.
Occasional customers.
A life built on routine.
"…Must be nice."
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
He didn't seem to hear.
Or maybe he was just kind enough to pretend.
The shelves welcomed me like déjà vu.
I'd walked these aisles so many times now that I knew which boards creaked, which sections smelled faintly of mildew, which spines were cracked beyond repair.
"Argument on the Three Lenses of Study…"
I pulled it from the shelf.
The cover was worn, the title embossed in faded gold.
I skimmed the first page.
Dense.
Philosophical.
The kind of thing that required more focus than I had.
"…Not today."
Back it went.
I moved deeper into the shop, trailing my fingers along the spines. Leather. Cloth. Some so old the titles had worn away entirely.
"I'm getting tired of this," I sighed, dropping into the chair by the window with a random book in hand.
The chair groaned under my weight—old wood, older cushions.
Anaita rested her head on the desk beside me.
Unbothered.
Patient.
"It looks interesting," I said, turning the book over in my hands. The cover was unmarked. Plain brown leather. No title. "Maybe an encyclopedia?"
No response.
I opened it anyway.
The pages were yellowed, the ink faded in places.
"The Law is but a frantic, golden lattice scratched into the skin of an infinite and unblinking silence…"
I paused.
Read it again.
The words didn't make more sense the second time.
"…Yeah, no."
I closed it.
Carefully.
Like it might bite.
"Not this one either."
That feeling again.
The one I'd been getting more often lately.
Like brushing against something too big to understand.
Too sharp to hold.
A shape in the corner of my vision that vanished when I turned to look.
I set the book down on the desk.
Stood.
"Let's go."
Outside, the world continued as if nothing mattered.
The sun was higher now. Hotter. The humidity pressed down like a weight.
We walked.
No direction.
No plan.
Just movement.
The streets were crowded—bodies pressed close, voices overlapping in a dozen languages. I kept my head down, my hands in my pockets.
Then—
fruit.
The smell hit me first.
Sweet.
Ripe.
Almost overwhelming.
"I want bananas. And pineapple."
I was already halfway there before finishing the sentence.
The fruit stall was set up beneath a faded canvas awning, crates stacked high with produce. The vendor—a woman with sun-darkened skin and a sharp eye for hagglers—watched me approach.
The bananas were bright.
Perfect yellow.
No bruises.
No brown spots.
The pineapple sat beside them, golden beneath its rough skin.
Promising sweetness.
I picked one up, testing its weight.
"How much?"
She named a price.
Too high.
I countered.
She scoffed.
We went back and forth—a dance we both knew the steps to.
After a bit of haggling—
success.
Victory.
I handed over the coins, tucked the fruit into my bag.
"See? This is what my gut was talking about."
Anaita gave me a look.
Flat.
Unimpressed.
"…Okay, not exactly."
By the time we made it back to the dormitory, evening had settled in.
Soft.
Calm.
The heat had finally broken, replaced by a cooler breeze that carried the scent of rain.
The dorm filled again soon after.
Heiwa.
Min.
Etsuko.
Amihan.
Their voices drifted up the stairs before they did—laughter, complaints about the day, the shuffle of tired feet.
I was sitting on my bed when they came in, the fruit already laid out on the small table by the window.
"Is that pineapple?" Etsuko asked, her eyes lighting up.
"And bananas," I said.
"You're a saint."
I wasn't.
But I didn't correct her.
I shared the fruit.
Sliced the pineapple with the small knife I kept in my desk drawer. The juice ran sticky and sweet over my fingers.
"Give some to Tatsu," I told Amihan with a grin, handing her a few slices wrapped in paper.
She rolled her eyes.
Took it anyway.
"You're impossible."
"I know."
The room settled into comfortable noise after that.
Quiet conversations.
The rustle of pages.
Someone humming under their breath.
I sat by the window, watching the street below.
The lamplighters were making their rounds, small flames flickering to life one by one.
The day hadn't given me answers.
Not the ones I wanted.
But I wasn't leaving empty-handed anymore.
I just didn't know what I was carrying yet.