"The summer is so hot."
Victoria's voice dragged across the room, stretched thin by the heat, each word landing slower than the last. She didn't move much when she said it. One leg bent, the other hanging off the bed, her sleeve slipping just enough to suggest she knew exactly how she looked and didn't care.
The sheets had gathered beneath her, twisted from earlier movement, catching faint lines of light from the window.
"Indecent."
My hand came down lightly against her thigh. Skin met skin with a soft, flat sound.
"What if someone sees you?"
She flinched more out of habit than pain, shifting away from me and dragging the sheet with her. The fabric pulled tight between us for a second before slipping loose again.
"Ouch—"
She rolled onto her side, adjusting nothing.
The room breathed around us.
A steady current of air moved through the space—not natural, not uneven. It passed across my arms, over my neck, under the loose edge of my sleeve with the same consistency each time, like it had memorized the room and refused to deviate.
"It was surprising to see Ezra still working at the Butterfly Apothecary," she said.
She brushed the moment aside completely, voice lighter now.
I turned my head toward the window. The curtains shifted slightly, not reacting—complying.
"It is, and—"
I paused.
The airflow didn't change.
Didn't dip. Didn't rise.
"Yeah," Victoria continued, pushing herself up onto her elbows. "Mr Mumei-shi now as a woman."
Her hands moved vaguely as she spoke, describing nothing in particular, then falling back onto the bed.
"But that was the same woman we met after returning from the capital," I said.
The memory aligned too cleanly to ignore. Same posture. Same presence. Just… reframed.
"Two be hot twice."
The pillow left my hand before I thought about it.
It struck her face cleanly.
A dull thump, followed by immediate laughter as she pushed it away, hair shifting messily across her shoulders.
"Let's go to the beach."
She sat up fully now. Energy snapped back into her posture like a switch had been flipped.
I didn't move.
"But didn't you just complain about the heat?"
"That's different."
She said it without hesitation.
Of course.
"Oh, and we can't exactly bring the Marquis to the beach with us, can we?"
Her head tilted slightly as she said it, eyes watching me carefully.
Not a question.
A setup.
"No."
I shifted my leg slightly, the fabric of my clothes pulling at the knee.
"We cannot."
She held my gaze for a second longer.
Then smiled.
Unrepentant.
"He's a Marquis now," I said, stretching my legs out across the bed. The mattress dipped slightly under the shift. "After his brother's assassination."
"Must be tough."
There was a pause.
A small one.
"And… this affects a beach trip how?"
I turned my head toward her slowly.
The air passed between us again. Same temperature. Same direction.
"Are you—just don't."
The thought died where it started.
She shrugged.
Unaffected.
"How do you make the cool wind?" I asked.
Her expression brightened instantly.
"Oh," she said. "There's a device I know that does the same thing."
She reached for the tray beside the bed without looking, fingers brushing the edge before finding a biscuit. The plate shifted slightly with the contact.
"I just copied that."
She popped it into her mouth.
Crumbs caught briefly at the corner of her lips before she brushed them away with the back of her hand.
Explanation complete.
"I'm bored."
She lay back again, one arm falling over her eyes.
"But also too tired to do anything."
A pause.
Her breathing slowed slightly as she thought.
Then—
"A nap is a good idea."
Before I could move, she leaned over.
Her arm slipped around my shoulders, pulling me toward her with lazy insistence. Her weight pressed in—not heavy, just enough to anchor.
"Let go of me, you idiot—"
I pushed against her shoulder.
The bed shifted under us, the frame giving a faint creak before settling again.
She laughed.
Tightened her hold for a second.
Then let go.
The space between us returned.
The room continued as if nothing had happened.
The light shifted.
Slowly.
The sharp edge of afternoon softened, sliding along the floorboards, climbing halfway up the wall before settling into a warmer tone. The breeze continued its quiet pattern, brushing the curtains into slow arcs that never quite completed a full swing.
I reached for a sandwich.
The bread compressed slightly under my fingers. Soft. Fresh.
I took a bite.
Warmth lingered in the center, the filling evenly distributed. Nothing unexpected.
A sip of tea followed.
Heat touched my lips first, then settled lower.
Calm.
Expected.
I leaned back again.
The cake stand remained untouched to the side, tiers arranged neatly, porcelain cups aligned beside the teapot. Steam still curled faintly from its spout.
"We have to attend a function later, right?"
Victoria's voice came from beside me.
Thicker now.
Slower.
"Hmm."
The sound barely left me.
More acknowledgment than answer.
I shifted under the covers, the fabric sliding smoothly against my arm.
"Maybe just a little nap."
The ceiling blurred slightly as my focus loosened.
The light dimmed further.
Edges softened.
Then—
Nothing.
Knock.
Knock.
The sound cut through everything.
Sharp.
Measured.
My body reacted first.
I pushed myself upright, the mattress dipping and rebounding beneath me. The room tilted briefly before settling back into place.
"Who's—"
My voice came out rough.
Dry.
The light was gone.
Not dimmed.
Gone.
The window held nothing now—no color, no gradient. Just absence where the sky had been.
I wiped at my face, brushing away the faint line of saliva at the corner of my mouth. My hand lingered there for a second before dropping.
I stood.
My steps were slower crossing the room, the floor cool beneath my feet through the thin sole of my footwear.
The door opened.
Miss Alvie stood there.
Still.
Her expression neutral, but her eyes held for a fraction longer than usual, as if something hadn't quite settled into place yet.
"It's almost time for dinner."
She didn't wait.
Didn't linger.
She turned immediately, her steps already carrying her away down the corridor.
I watched her back for a moment.
Then closed the door.
"I guess Mr David woke her up," I muttered.
Behind me, the bed shifted.
"What is it…" Victoria mumbled.
Her voice barely formed.
"It's dinner time."
I crossed back and grabbed her shoulder, fingers pressing just enough to pull her upward.
"And you're not going to sleep at night if you keep this up."
She resisted.
Weakly.
Her arm moved once, as if to push me away, then dropped.
She gave in.
We moved through it.
Wash.
Water ran briefly, cool against skin before warming slightly. Hands moved without thought.
Dress.
Fabric settled into place. Adjusted where needed. Left where it wasn't.
Adjust.
Small movements. Sleeves straightened. Collars aligned.
The cool air from earlier was gone.
The room felt still again.
Neutral.
We stepped into the corridor.
The lighting had changed.
Lamps lined the walls, casting a warm, steady glow. Shadows stretched just enough to soften the edges of the space, never deep enough to hide anything.
Our footsteps echoed lightly.
Measured.
The dining hall waited ahead.
We entered.
"Good evening, Lord Morgenstahl."
Albrecht von Morgenstahl inclined his head slightly.
Others followed.
Greetings passed between us, brief and controlled.
We sat.
I glanced at Victoria.
Should we have worn a yukata instead of a hanfu?
The thought came and went.
Too late.
Dinner was already set.
Roast duck.
The skin caught the light, a thin sheen across its surface. Steam rose faintly where it had been cut.
Asparagus rolls sat beside it, arranged with quiet precision.
I picked up my utensils.
The first cut met resistance, then gave cleanly.
The scent settled into the air—rich, contained.
Conversation stayed minimal.
Each word measured before it was allowed to exist.
Silence filled the rest.
Not empty.
Held.
Dessert followed.
Cheesecake.
Smooth surface. Clean edges.
Unexpected.
But not misplaced.
The hall adapted to whoever sat within it.
The lighting remained low.
Soft.
Outside, the crimson moon hung behind drifting clouds, its light filtered through the tall windows in faint, uneven patterns.
We finished.
No one lingered.
Chairs slid back.
Steps followed.
The room emptied as cleanly as it had filled.
We returned.
Victoria dropped onto the bed immediately, the frame shifting under her weight.
"Let's take a walk."
She stared at the ceiling.
"I'm not sleepy."
Of course she wasn't.
I exhaled.
Then nodded.
The streets had changed.
Not emptied.
Shifted.
Lanterns lined the road, their light pooling across stone and wood in soft circles. Shadows stretched between them, never fully connecting.
Shops remained open.
Warm light spilled from their interiors, carrying voices out into the street in controlled waves.
The night moved differently.
Slower.
But not weaker.
Smoke curled from a nearby vendor's grill.
Meat.
Fish.
The scent reached us first—thick, immediate.
Then the sea breeze followed.
Cool.
Uneven.
Real.
It moved past us without asking, catching loose strands of hair, slipping under fabric in a way the room's air never had.
People walked.
Steady.
Purposeful.
No rush.
No idleness.
The city refused to sleep.
It simply changed how it stayed awake.
We walked.
No direction.
No goal.
Just movement.
Sound layered around us—the murmur of voices, the crackle of fire, the distant, steady rhythm of the sea pressing against the shore.
A yawn slipped out of me before I could stop it.
Victoria glanced over immediately.
"We should head back."
No argument.
We turned.
"Would you like some squid, young ladies?"
The vendor's voice was warm.
Open.
Victoria didn't slow.
Her hand caught my wrist, fingers wrapping lightly before pulling me along.
The contact broke as quickly as it came.
The sea grew louder behind us.
Not overwhelming.
Just constant.
We returned.
The room greeted us the same way it always did.
Quiet.
Neutral.
Unchanged.
I dropped onto the bed.
The mattress gave beneath me, then settled.
Exhaustion followed immediately.
Heavy.
Sudden.
Unavoidable.
Sleep didn't wait.
It took.
Fast.
Clean.
Like it had been watching for the moment.
"Night," Victoria murmured.
Her voice already distant.
"Hmm."
The sound barely formed.
Then—
nothing.