The house woke up in stages.
First the birds — old trees in the garden meant birds, which was something nobody had factored into the decision and which Kaito noted at six AM with the mild interest of someone encountering a new variable.
Then Hana.
She appeared in the kitchen at six forty-seven in her pyjamas with the moving day headband still on — she had apparently slept in it — and the focused energy of someone who had been awake for longer than her appearance in the kitchen suggested.
"Good morning," she said, to the kitchen.
The kitchen was empty.
"Good morning," she said again, to the garden visible through the back door window.
The garden was also empty, which she found less acceptable.
She went to the back door. Opened it. Stood on the step.
Looked at the flat section.
Looked at the covered area.
Looked at the old trees.
"Mine," she confirmed, to the garden. The garden accepted this.
She went back inside to find breakfast.
