The city did not slow for anyone.
It pressed inward the moment we stepped out, noise folding over itself in layers—voices calling prices, the clatter of metal against metal, fabric snapping sharp in the wind as merchants shook out their wares. Movement filled every available space. Bodies passed close enough to brush, then slipped away before contact could settle into anything real.
By the time we reached the hotel entrance, the sound had flattened into something constant.
Not loud.
Just inescapable.
Kamon stepped down first. His boots met the stone with a firm, grounded sound, the hem of his coat shifting as he straightened. He adjusted his sleeves with small, precise motions, then turned back toward us, the crowd moving behind him like a current he had already chosen to ignore.
"You people would be returning to the regional office."
He spoke evenly.
The wind pushed faintly at his words, carrying them just enough that they didn't linger.
"I believe you would like to see the city while you can."
A pause followed.
Not long.
Just enough for the suggestion to settle into place as something else.
Permission.
"I want to go to the bathhouse."
Alvie didn't hesitate.
Her hand moved immediately, fanning herself with quick, repetitive motions. The fabric of her sleeve rustled softly with each flick, her posture already leaning away from the cold and toward something warmer.
Kamon's eyes shifted.
They landed on David.
David's shoulders rose in a small, almost careless shrug. The motion barely disturbed the line of his coat.
"Hmm."
Kamon let it go.
The noise of the street filled the space between them, swallowing whatever might have come next.
"What about you ladies?"
His gaze moved.
It stopped on me first.
Then, just slightly, to Victoria.
"I'll be heading to the Butterfly Apothecary."
The words left clean.
No hesitation.
No adjustment.
David's attention flicked toward me, then away again, like the answer had already been expected.
"What about you?"
His voice turned back toward Kamon.
Kamon lifted the books in his hand a fraction, the edges catching the light as he shifted his grip.
"I will head home for a bit."
The statement landed without weight.
No one questioned it.
No one needed to.
The moment ended.
The group loosened.
Then broke.
The crowd took me immediately.
Movement became instinct. My shoulder angled to slip past a vendor's tray before it could tilt. My steps shortened to pass between two men arguing over something I didn't hear. A hand lifted, then lowered again as someone reached for something I had already moved beyond.
The rhythm of the street pulled at me.
Adjusted me.
Carried me forward.
I didn't look back.
Even when I felt it.
Footsteps.
Measured.
Consistent.
Behind me.
Victoria.
The pattern held no matter how I shifted. A turn left into a narrower path, a step around a group gathered too tightly, a pause that wasn't quite a pause—she adjusted with it. Not closing the distance. Not letting it widen.
Just there.
I kept my gaze forward.
Ignored her.
Deliberately.
The apothecary revealed itself without warning.
One moment, stone and noise and movement—
The next—
stillness, tucked between buildings like it had been placed there and forgotten.
My hand pushed against the door.
The wood gave with a soft resistance.
A bell chimed.
The air changed immediately.
Cooler.
Denser.
The scent reached first—dried herbs layered over something faintly sweet, like tea left just long enough to deepen. It filled the lungs differently, slower, as if the body had to remember how to breathe inside it.
The door closed behind me with a muted click.
Sound dropped.
Not gone.
Just… lowered.
Butterflies rested along the beams above. Their wings shifted faintly, barely perceptible, catching light in brief, soft flashes before settling again.
A woman passed beside me as I stepped further in.
"Good afternoon."
I moved slightly to the side, giving her space.
Her ears—cat-like—twitched upward, the motion quick and reflexive.
"Good afternoon, dear."
She didn't stop.
The fabric of her sleeve brushed lightly against mine as she passed, then was gone.
The bell didn't ring again.
The quiet returned.
"Good afternoon, hmm…"
The name hovered just out of reach.
Across the room, Mumeishi looked up.
She held a cup of tea loosely in one hand, steam rising in a thin, wavering line.
"Mumeishi, or whatever you prefer."
Her voice carried ease.
It settled into the room without disturbing anything else.
Beside her, Ezra worked.
The scissors moved in small, deliberate motions. Each cut produced a faint, clean sound. Leaves shifted, some falling, some holding, the structure of the bonsai adjusting in increments too small to track all at once.
I watched for a second.
Then moved.
The chair accepted my weight with a soft creak.
"Good afternoon."
Victoria's voice followed me in.
She stepped inside.
The bell chimed once more.
She closed the door behind her and took the seat beside me.
Close.
Close enough to feel.
Not close enough to touch.
I didn't turn.
"Tea?"
Mumeishi's hand had already moved.
The cup reached me before I answered.
I nodded.
"Thank you."
The ceramic pressed warmth into my palms. It grounded something—temperature against skin, real and immediate.
Steam curled upward, brushing lightly against my face before disappearing.
"How was the burial?"
Her voice lowered.
Not secretive.
Just respectful.
I lifted the cup.
The surface trembled once, then steadied as I held it still.
"He was a good man."
The words settled.
The room accepted them without resistance.
Mumeishi nodded.
"That, he was."
Nothing followed.
Ezra's scissors clicked again.
A butterfly shifted above, its wings brushing faintly against wood.
I inhaled.
The scent of herbs deepened slightly with the motion.
Held it.
Then let it go.
"Ma."
Ezra didn't look up.
The scissors paused mid-motion.
"Did you know Victoria was one of those summoned heroes?"
The cup in my hand stopped.
The surface of the tea rippled outward in a slow, uneven circle.
Then another.
A fraction too late.
"Ah."
Mumeishi's voice came after a beat.
"Yes."
Just that.
No movement.
No change in posture.
Then—
"But you can't call her that anymore."
Her fingers adjusted slightly on the cup, the motion small but deliberate.
"The world has no use for it now."
The words landed clean.
Too clean.
Heat pressed into my palms.
I didn't register it properly.
The liquid shifted again, climbing the edge of the cup before slipping over. It traced a thin line down the side, onto my fingers.
I didn't wipe it.
"Heiw—"
Victoria's voice started.
I didn't look at her.
"Why wasn't I informed?"
My voice came out steady.
Too steady.
The tea moved again.
A drop fell to the floor.
"It seems everyone else knew."
"Heiwa, there was no time—"
Her hands landed on my shoulders.
Warm.
Familiar.
I shrugged them off.
Sharp.
The contact broke immediately.
"And even after the war?"
I turned slightly.
Not enough.
"Was I not important enough to be made aware?"
The room tightened.
Not physically.
But something drew inward.
"What happened?"
Mumeishi's voice cut through softly.
Her tails moved behind her, slow arcs that disturbed the air just enough to be felt.
"Victor— Vic—"
The name caught.
My throat closed around it.
The cup tilted slightly in my hand.
I set it down before it could fall.
Tears blurred the edges of the room.
The shapes remained.
Details didn't.
"Heiwa—"
Victoria again.
I stood.
The chair scraped hard against the floor.
The sound cut through everything.
Too loud.
Too sudden.
No one spoke.
I didn't apologize.
I moved.
The bell rang as the door opened.
The sound stretched slightly as it followed me out.
Then snapped back into place as the door shut.
The city rushed in.
Noise returned in full.
Voices. Movement. Heat pressing against skin, replacing the stillness too quickly to adjust.
I walked.
Fast.
My steps struck harder against the ground than necessary, each one pushing forward before the last had fully settled.
People blurred past.
Faces without detail.
Voices without meaning.
My shoulder clipped someone.
A complaint followed.
I didn't turn.
Didn't slow.
The crowd resisted, then gave way in uneven bursts as I pushed through.
The rhythm broke.
Then reformed.
I kept moving.
Faster.
Until—
the density thinned.
The pressure eased.
Buildings pulled back.
Space opened.
And the sea appeared.
The shoreline stretched out ahead.
Wide.
Open.
Uninterrupted.
The sound reached first.
Waves moving in steady intervals, the water folding into itself with a low, continuous rhythm that filled the space without rising above it.
I stepped onto the sand.
It shifted immediately.
Grains slid under my weight, slipping into my shoes with each step, cold and fine and persistent.
I kept walking.
Each step sank slightly before lifting again, the resistance slowing me just enough to feel it.
The air tasted different here.
Salt.
Damp.
Clean in a way that didn't care about anything else.
I stopped.
The water moved in front of me.
Forward.
Back.
Unchanged.
"Was I just a guest at a play?"
The thought settled.
Didn't move.
"Just someone lucky enough to watch?"
The wind passed.
Cool against my face.
It tugged at my coat, slipped through my hair, pressed lightly against my skin before moving on.
No answer.
"Did Dōngzhì know?"
The question came without effort.
Stayed.
Built.
"She probably did."
The words felt inevitable.
"Everyone did."
The realization didn't hit all at once.
It crept.
Like the tide pulling closer without being noticed.
"I was a stranger… thinking us friends."
Salt reached my lips.
I didn't know if it was the air or something else.
"Stupid."
The word stayed.
Didn't drift.
Didn't fade.
"What happens when she returns?"
The thought expanded.
There was no space to avoid it.
"I'm just a stand-in."
The water edged closer.
A thin line of foam stretched forward, then broke apart before reaching me.
"Even as a replacement… I'm second-hand."
My hands came up.
Covered my face.
The wind pushed harder now, catching the fabric of my sleeves, pressing it against my arms.
It didn't help.
Nothing shifted.
Behind me, footsteps passed.
Distant.
Unimportant.
The sand pressed deeper into my shoes with each small movement, settling into place where it didn't belong.
My chest tightened.
Not sharp.
Not sudden.
Just constant.
Like something had found a place and refused to leave.
The waves continued.
Forward.
Back.
Unaffected.
As if nothing had changed at all.