I woke to light already settled into the room.
Not the kind that arrives with intention—no sharp edge, no urgency—but something that had been there long enough to feel established. It lay across the walls in thin layers, pale and steady, catching on the edges of furniture and stretching across the floor in quiet lines. It pressed against my face without warmth, just presence.
My eyes stayed open.
For a while, I didn't move.
The ceiling above me held still, unchanging, its corners slightly darker where the light didn't fully reach. The silence felt stretched—thin, almost fragile, like it might tear if anything sudden happened.
The last thing I remembered—
Running.
My chest tightened slightly at the thought, like my body recognized something my mind hadn't caught up to yet.
Then nothing.
No fall. No stop. Just absence.
I pushed myself up slowly.
The bedsheet slid down from my shoulders, dragging lightly across my arms before slipping off entirely. It gathered behind me with a soft collapse, the fabric settling into itself without sound after.
The air touched my skin immediately—cool, steady, enough to pull me fully awake.
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed.
My feet met the floor.
Cold.
The contact traveled upward, grounding me in a way the light hadn't. My weight shifted unevenly at first, a small adjustment in my stance before balance returned.
The room didn't react.
It just stayed.
Waiting.
The washroom carried a different kind of quiet.
Closer.
Contained.
The light there was softer, less intrusive, reflecting faintly off the surface of water as I turned the tap. It ran over my hands in a thin stream—cool at first, then settling into something more consistent.
I watched it.
Watched it gather briefly in my palms before slipping through my fingers and disappearing down the drain.
My reflection broke apart in the movement.
Reformed.
Then broke again.
I stayed there longer than necessary, hands resting under the stream even after they'd warmed. The sound filled the small space—steady, repetitive, almost enough to occupy thought.
Almost.
I turned it off.
The silence returned immediately.
By the time I reached the dining hall, the morning had already taken hold.
The space was occupied, but not crowded. People sat at measured distances, their movements controlled, contained within their own small areas. Utensils touched porcelain in soft intervals—metal against ceramic, light but distinct.
Chairs shifted.
Fabric brushed.
Conversations stayed low, never rising high enough to dominate the room.
I moved toward the table.
"You are up early."
Alvie's voice met me before I fully settled into my seat.
I nodded.
The motion felt automatic.
The coffee sat in front of me, steam still rising faintly. I reached for it, the cup warm against my fingers. The smell hit immediately—bitter, grounding, familiar in a way that didn't require thought.
I poured milk.
Watched the color change.
Slowly.
The surface shifted as I stirred, the liquid folding into itself in quiet spirals before settling again.
"Where's Miss Victoria?"
David's voice cut in, calm, even.
He didn't look up.
The knife in his hand moved steadily across the bread, spreading butter in smooth, consistent strokes.
"I don't know."
The answer came out without resistance.
I took a sip.
The heat reached my tongue, sharp enough to register, but not enough to linger.
"Didn't you guys sleep together?"
He still didn't look at me.
"She might have slept at the shrine."
I shrugged slightly.
The movement felt small.
Reasonable.
The explanation settled into place too easily.
No one challenged it.
Breakfast continued.
Time moved in pieces—small, unremarkable segments marked by the sound of a cup being set down, a chair shifting, the last bite of something finished without ceremony.
Nothing stood out.
Nothing pressed.
Then it ended.
We checked out quickly.
No delay.
Outside, the street had already filled.
The light had changed.
No longer pale—now warmer, leaning into gold as it stretched across buildings and caught on passing figures. It reflected off glass, off metal, off movement, turning everything into something slightly brighter than it needed to be.
People moved in layered patterns.
Voices overlapped.
The city didn't pause.
"Good morning."
Kamon approached from the side, his posture unchanged from the day before. Controlled. Composed. Beside him walked a woman—quiet in presence, but not unnoticed.
"Ah, morning, Mr Kamon and Mrs Dari."
Alvie's voice carried easily.
Dari smiled.
It reached her eyes.
"You must be Miss Liúlóng."
Her gaze settled on me.
I nodded.
The motion felt slower this time.
"Good morning… Ma."
The word felt unfamiliar.
It sat strangely on my tongue, like something borrowed.
Heat rose slightly to my face, subtle but present. My gaze shifted without intention—her hair, neatly arranged, the steadiness in her expression.
There was something there.
Not loud.
Just—
warm.
"Where's your friend?"
The question came lightly.
But it didn't pass.
"She should be here soon."
The answer felt thinner than before.
Less certain.
We started moving.
The crowd flowed around us, people slipping between spaces, carrying on without interruption. The sun climbed higher. The light sharpened slightly.
Time passed.
Victoria didn't appear.
"We will miss the train."
Alvie's tone shifted.
Slightly.
David checked his pocket watch.
The silence that followed pressed.
Not loud.
Just—
there.
"Alvie."
Kamon turned.
"You go with Heiwa to the shrine. We will secure the tickets."
The decision settled immediately.
No discussion.
No hesitation.
We split.
The steps to the shrine rose the same way they always had.
Long.
Uneven.
Each one worn slightly from use, the surface smoothed by time and repetition.
I started up.
The incline pulled at my legs almost immediately, the effort building with each step. My breath adjusted—slightly deeper, slightly faster.
Behind me, Alvie exhaled.
"Ahh, those are quite a lot of steps."
Her voice carried upward.
I didn't respond.
Didn't slow.
The wind shifted as we climbed, brushing past in short bursts, cool against my skin. Leaves rustled above, the sound light but constant, following us upward.
At the top—
The space opened.
Familiar.
Still.
"Heiwa, good morning. Came to see us before leaving?"
Danpung paused her sweeping.
The broom rested lightly against the ground.
I stepped forward.
"Huh… Aunty, didn't Victoria spend the night here?"
My eyes moved without instruction.
Across the space.
Doorway.
Steps.
Corners.
Looking.
"Hmm."
Her expression shifted slightly.
"No. I was told you two had a fight. Didn't she spend the night with you?"
The wind moved again.
Colder this time.
"What?"
The word slipped out.
Unfiltered.
"No, she did not."
A pause.
Something dropped.
"I thought she spent the night here."
My breath caught.
Just slightly.
The space tilted.
A hand landed on my shoulder.
Firm.
"Heiwa."
Alvie's voice cut through.
"Go inform Mr David that Victoria is missing."
Missing.
The word echoed.
Louder than everything else.
"Missing."
I repeated it.
It didn't settle.
Didn't fit.
"Heiwa."
Sharper now.
I blinked.
The world snapped back.
I ran.
Down the steps.
Faster than before.
Each step landed harder, the descent pulling me forward. My balance adjusted with each impact, small corrections happening without thought.
The ground blurred beneath me.
My breath broke into uneven pulls.
The street rushed up.
Noise.
Heat.
Movement.
I pushed through it.
The apothecary came into view.
Closed.
Still.
The door didn't move.
No sound from within.
My chest tightened.
My gaze snapped left.
Right.
Forward.
Nothing.
No sign.
No trace.
Time stretched—
Then snapped.
I turned.
And ran again.
The station was louder now.
Or maybe I just heard it properly this time.
"Missing."
The word broke as I reached them.
David looked at me.
Calm.
Too calm.
"Missing."
He repeated it.
A pause.
"I see."
That was all.
Dari stepped forward.
Her arms wrapped around me before I registered the movement.
Warm.
Steady.
My balance shifted slightly against her, the world tilting just enough to feel it.
"Heiwa, get on the train."
David's voice cut through.
It didn't land.
"What?"
My voice came out rough.
Distant.
"Miss Alvie and Mr Kamon will look for her. We are returning to the liaison building."
I pulled away.
The street stretched ahead.
People moved.
Voices carried.
Everything continued.
I thought about turning.
Running.
Looking for her myself.
The thought burned.
Then stalled.
A hand settled on my shoulder again.
Kamon.
"Take a deep breath."
His grip was steady.
"She will be fine. Just go and report the incident. You can do that."
I looked at him.
Then at David.
Then back at the street.
The decision sat there.
Heavy.
Then—
I stepped onto the train.
It moved before I settled.
The platform slid backward slowly at first, the edges stretching, pulling away until details blurred into motion.
I sat.
Didn't remember deciding to.
The seat was firm beneath me.
The vibration of the train traveled upward through the frame, into my legs, into my chest. Constant. Unavoidable.
"How are you?"
David's voice came from across.
I didn't answer.
He didn't repeat it.
His book opened.
Pages turned.
The sound was quiet.
Measured.
Outside, the city shifted.
Buildings thinned.
Open space stretched outward.
Then—
The sea.
Wide.
Endless.
The surface moved in slow patterns, light catching and breaking across it in uneven lines. Birds circled above, their calls thin against the wind, barely reaching the window.
"Missing."
The word returned.
Again.
And again.
My eyes stayed fixed on the horizon.
Where water met sky.
A line that didn't move.
"Was she running away?"
"What happened?"
The questions circled.
No answers.
"Did I chase her away?"
My chest tightened.
Not sharp.
Just enough.
I swallowed.
"I waited."
The thought formed slowly.
"I always wait."
The words settled.
Heavy.
Something burned at the back of my throat.
I swallowed again.
It didn't go away.
The train continued forward.
Uninterrupted.
And I stayed where I was.