The walk up the steps faded faster than it should have.
One moment it was effort—legs adjusting to the incline, breath settling into a rhythm—and the next it was memory. The kind that doesn't linger long enough to be examined. Just done.
Above us, the moon held its place.
Unobstructed.
No clouds. No haze. Just silver light spilling cleanly across stone and wood, tracing edges, softening shadows without hiding them. The steps behind us stretched downward into quiet darkness, while ahead, the shrine stood with its familiar stillness.
The main house was lit.
Warm light slipped through the windows, pooling softly onto the ground outside. It didn't spill far—just enough to mark presence. Voices carried faintly through the walls. Not loud. Not urgent. Just conversation existing without restraint.
Victoria reached the door first.
She knocked.
Then opened it without waiting.
"Who might that be," Danpung's voice came from inside.
We stepped in.
The shift was immediate.
Incense.
It wrapped around me the moment the door closed behind us—warm, steady, layered with something faintly sweet. Not overwhelming. Just present enough to settle into the lungs and stay there.
"Ah—my babies," she exclaimed.
The distance between us closed in a breath.
Her arms came around us both, pulling us in with a familiarity that didn't ask permission. The fabric of her clothing brushed lightly against my skin, soft but structured, carrying that same scent that filled the room.
I leaned in without thinking.
It felt like holding onto something solid.
A pillar.
Grounding.
Safe.
"How are you," she said, pulling back just enough to hold our faces in her hands.
Her touch was warm. Steady. She looked at each of us in turn, eyes moving carefully, as if checking for something that couldn't be seen at a glance.
Behind her, Himitsu and Dōnghzi remained seated at the table.
They hadn't moved much.
They didn't need to.
"You should have written to us that you would be visiting," Himitsu said.
Her tone wasn't sharp. Just… pointed. A quiet acknowledgment that our arrival had skipped a step.
Dōnghzi reached out instead.
Her hand found Victoria's hair, fingers moving through it in slow, deliberate strokes. The motion carried no urgency—just habit, familiarity, something done enough times to become natural.
"How are you," she asked.
Her fox tail swept lightly across the floor behind her, brushing against the wood in soft arcs.
"Better," I replied.
My voice came out slightly muffled, still close enough to Danpung that the words felt more like they belonged in the space between us than the room itself.
"Where's Miss Li Hua," Victoria asked, lifting her head. "I would like she meet my senior—they have a lot in common."
Her tone carried that familiar edge—curiosity layered over something more deliberate.
"Ah," Danpung said, stepping away toward the kitchen. "She and Miss Hazel travelled a week ago."
Her voice drifted back with her movement.
I watched her go for a moment—the way she moved through the space without hesitation, as if every object already knew its place in relation to her.
She returned with a tea set.
Porcelain. Light. Familiar.
She set it down carefully, each piece placed with the same quiet precision the room seemed built around.
"Oh," Victoria said. "What about Mr Mumei-shi?"
There was a hint of disappointment there, quick but noticeable.
"Your boss is here," Himitsu said.
The words cut across the question cleanly.
Victoria blinked once.
Then looked at me.
"Well, yes," I said, straightening slightly as I took my seat. "We are actually here due to the political tension arising from the West's actions."
Saying it out loud made it feel heavier.
More real.
"Hmm," Dōnghzi murmured. "Mr Mumei-shi is manning the Butterfly Apothecary at the moment."
Her hand withdrew from Victoria's hair, returning to her cup as if the motion had simply reached its natural end.
"My girls are international mediators," Danpung said.
She handed me a cup of tea as she spoke, her tone carrying a warmth that wasn't quite pride but sat close enough to it.
Victoria puffed her chest slightly.
Subtle.
But not unnoticed.
The tea warmed my fingers immediately. The surface trembled faintly as I adjusted my grip, the liquid settling back into stillness a second later.
"The port has been in chaos," Himitsu added. "There was even a protest about three days ago."
The words didn't surprise me.
They confirmed what we had already seen.
"Tensions are rising," Dōnghzi said, setting her cup down. "You should be careful."
Her yukata shifted slightly with the movement, fabric sliding just enough to reveal how relaxed she had been sitting.
I nodded.
"Thank you for the money and goods you have been sending," Danpung said, taking her seat.
The words landed differently.
Direct.
Personal.
My face warmed.
I felt it before I could hide it.
I nodded again, this time with less control.
No words followed.
"I assume you have to get up early," Himitsu said after a moment. "Why not take a bath and go to bed."
The suggestion settled into place easily.
No one argued.
The house felt the same.
And not.
Small changes revealed themselves the longer I looked. A vase where there hadn't been one before. Slight shifts in arrangement. Objects moved not randomly, but with purpose that had unfolded in our absence.
Time had passed here too.
Just differently.
The bath—
Was familiar.
Warm water embraced without hesitation, heat pressing into skin in a way that didn't demand anything in return. Muscles loosened gradually, tension slipping away in quiet increments.
It felt right.
Not new.
Not surprising.
Just right.
Later, the room.
Clean.
Ordered.
The bed held its shape like it remembered us.
I lay down beside Victoria.
The space between us closed naturally, no thought required.
"It has been a while," she murmured.
Her voice stayed low, almost blending into the quiet around us.
The moonlight filtered through the window, tracing pale lines across the floor, climbing the edge of the bed, settling just enough to outline shapes without revealing everything.
"How are you feeling," I asked.
My hand found hers.
Fingers resting lightly before closing.
"Nervous," she said. "And you?"
"Same," I answered.
The word came easier than expected.
"Then I guess it's alright," she added.
A small logic.
Simple.
But enough.
A lot had changed.
Out there.
Here.
Within us.
But—
Not everything.
The Butterfly Apothecary was still there.
Waiting.
Other things too.
Conversations that hadn't happened yet. Moments that hadn't been interrupted.
Possibilities that hadn't been closed.
We shifted slightly.
Turned.
Facing opposite directions now.
Backs touching.
A quiet point of contact that didn't need eyes or words.
Our breathing settled.
Matched.
Not perfectly.
But close enough.
The night held.
Steady.
And slowly—
Without resistance—
Sleep came.