Consciousness surfaced from a long, lingering tremor.
The tremor came from below—the residual hum of the Mingdu's machinery in motion, reaching skin through the mattress. Silence all around, save for the faint whir of the air circulation system and the low, muffled sound of seawater being cleaved by the bow. A thin seam of gray light pressed through the gap in the blackout curtains, outlining the shape of the porthole.
Steady breathing came from beside me.
I opened my eyes. The room was dark. Blackout curtains sealed everything outside within. The air held the faint mineral scent of the ship's filtered ventilation, cool and dry against my skin.
I reached out and touched the surface of the nightstand. The curtains slid open to both sides. Morning light flooded the cabin, pale and clean, the kind of light that only exists far from land. Outside the porthole, the sea stretched gray-blue to the horizon. A few gulls skimmed low over the whitecaps, their wings catching the first pale light. The Mingdu was heading into deeper waters.
"Awake?"
"Not awake. This girl is still sleeping." The voice, muffled by the pillow, was soft and sticky-sweet as if just fished out of a jar of honey.
The mattress vibrated. Tsukago turned over, burying her face deeper into the pillow, cocooning herself so that only strands of pinkish-purple hair were visible. The blanket rose and fell with her breathing. A bare foot emerged from the edge of the blanket, toes curling once before tucking back under.
I withdrew my gaze and sat up. "Weren't we going to watch the morning sea?"
"That was Sister's idea. This girl only said she could cooperate."
I glanced at her. "You. You've known since you were little how to leave yourself some room. Saying you'll cooperate is basically saying you don't want to get up."
A muffled laugh came from under the blanket. "As long as Sister knows."
I said nothing more. I raised my hand and brushed the Lingguang Armlet on my left wrist. A faint, cold light flickered. Two neatly folded dresses materialized in my palm out of thin air. The fabric was cool to the touch, carrying the Armlet's residual chill.
"Sister, did you get them ready?"
"Ready."
The mattress vibrated. Tsukago sat up, hair a mess, the sash of her sleeping gown half undone. She rubbed one eye with the heel of her hand, then reached for the dress. The morning light caught the pastel-pink fabric, turning it almost translucent at the edges. She held it up against herself, tilting her head.
"This girl's morning cannot be skipped." She said, "If the light really does turn into pudding, this girl will cut it in half. Half for you and half for me. And pour some sea-salt caramel sauce on top."
"Today's outfit. A dress?"
"Of course. It suits you."
"Once I put this on, someone will probably say, 'Why is wifey so princessy today.'"
I looked into her eyes. "Princess it is. Today, anyway, you're strawberry-flavored."
She shut the bathroom door. Through it came the soft rustle of fabric and the click of a zipper. I turned to the mirror and smoothed the jet-black dress over my hips. The fabric fell straight, the hem brushing just below my knees. The mirror reflected the porthole behind me, a circle of pale sky and moving water.
By the time Tsukago had changed into the mist-pink dress, I was already adjusting the strap of my deep wine-red crossbody bag. She emerged from the bathroom and spun once, the skirt flaring out. The hem floated for a breath before settling back against her legs.
I picked up the deep wine-red crossbody bag from the hanger. Tsukago picked up the light pink crossbody bag. Both bags were from Avenor. The leather was soft, the clasps gleaming with a matte sheen under the light. She looped the strap over her shoulder and adjusted it so the bag rested against her hip.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out. The screen showed a new text message. The sender was a number I hadn't saved. I opened it.
The sea will be choppy today. Be careful.
I stared at the line, then turned the phone over and placed it face down on the nightstand. The screen dimmed against the dark wood. Outside the porthole, the horizon had sharpened. The sea was no longer gray-blue but a hard, bright silver, the kind of silver that stings the eyes if you look too long.
——From now on, let me see who exactly are the targets.
I reached out and straightened the folds on the back of her dress. My fingertips brushed the fabric, and her shoulders shrank back.
"Sister, you're tickling me."
"The folds were crooked."
She turned around and faced me. The mirror light cast soft shadows across her face. Behind her, our reflections stood side by side, one in mist-pink, one in jet-black, the porthole framing them both.
"Sister," she tilted her head, "you're different today from yesterday."
I didn't answer, just looked into her eyes. The distance was close enough to smell the shampoo in her hair—the same bottle we'd used together the night before. She stood on her tiptoes and pressed her forehead to mine.
"Today," she tilted her head, "what should we do."
"What do you want to do."
She was silent for a few seconds. "This girl wants to be with you."
I placed my hand over her folded hands. Outside the window, the sea breeze lifted a corner of the curtain, casting our forehead-to-forehead shadows onto the carpet. They overlapped, impossible to tell whose outline was whose.
"Then together it is."
She closed her eyes. Our breathing merged.
She opened her eyes. "You said it. No taking it back."
"Your bag strap is crooked. Anyway, wherever you are, this girl here will be."
The door closed behind us. The light tubes in the corridor hummed overhead, a steady electric note that followed us toward the stairwell. The carpet swallowed all our footsteps. The only sound was the soft rustle of our dresses brushing against each other, once, twice, then falling back into silence.
We passed a porthole. The sea outside had brightened to a pale silver. A container ship sat motionless on the horizon, so distant it might have been a smudge on the glass. By the time we reached the next landing, it was gone.
Outside the window, seagulls skimmed low over the whitecaps.
The ship swayed gently. The sea breeze slipped in through the porthole gap, carrying the distant low hum of diesel engines. The Mingdu was heading into deeper waters. The corridor stretched ahead, empty and quiet, the carpet muffling every step. Somewhere above, a deck door opened and closed, letting in a brief gust of salt air before sealing shut again.