The light didn't ask to enter.
It slipped through the café windows anyway—thin at first, then stretching wider as the sun lowered, laying itself across the room in long, quiet bands. It reached the table without resistance, climbed the walls in uneven strips, and broke against the edges of chairs and shoulders that no longer noticed it.
Everything it touched softened.
Colors dulled into warmth. Movement slowed without stopping. The day didn't end—it folded.
Upstairs, the air held still.
"Miss Heiwa, can you go order some food as we wait for their message."
Mr David didn't look up.
The novel rested open in his hands, his thumb holding the page in place as if he had paused a thought rather than interrupted it. His posture remained unchanged—back straight, shoulders settled, attention fixed on the text.
Only his voice moved.
"Yes, Sir."
The response came immediately.
I glanced down at the table.
The report had spread since the last time I looked at it. Sheets layered over one another, corners misaligned from repeated handling. Ink marked across margins—corrections, additions, brief notes written quickly and left unfinished.
Each message had arrived in fragments.
Each pigeon adding something.
None of it forming anything complete.
Nothing final.
Nothing that settled.
I stood.
The chair legs scraped softly against the floor as I pushed it back. The sound lingered longer than it should have in the stillness. My fingers brushed the edge of the table as I turned, grounding myself without thinking.
The hallway outside felt narrower.
Or maybe I noticed it more.
The walls didn't change, but the distance between them pressed closer as I moved through.
Downstairs, the world returned.
Sound met me halfway down the steps—layered voices overlapping without order, cups meeting saucers in small, repeated taps, the low hum of conversation that didn't need to be heard clearly to exist.
The smell followed.
Baked goods.
Tea.
Something sweet beneath it that stayed at the back of the throat longer than expected.
It felt—
Normal.
Too normal.
I moved toward the counter.
",Ah, I did not ask what he would like to have."
The realization came late.
I slowed for half a step.
Then continued.
There wasn't space to go back for something that small.
"Evening Mr Nathan."
He stood behind the counter as he always did—upright, composed. Where Etsuko let her presence loosen into the room, he held his in place. Hair set. Clothes aligned. Nothing out of order.
"Evening young miss, would you like anything."
He turned fully toward me, leaving the conversation he had been in without hesitation. His arm came to rest against the counter, posture relaxed without losing structure.
"How's it going."
"Hmm, fine."
My eyes moved briefly across the room.
A couple leaned into each other at a corner table, voices lowered into something private. A spoon circled porcelain to my left, steady, repetitive. Someone laughed—short, sharp, gone before it carried.
"Can I have some muffins, a cup of coffee with chocolate, and an Earl Grey."
The words settled into place as I spoke them.
Routine.
Predictable.
"Alright."
He nodded once.
"The tea is for David, huh? You can head back. I will bring it."
He was already moving.
Hands lifting muffins from their tray, placing them onto a plate without pause. Cups arranged. Liquid poured. Each action flowed into the next without hesitation, shaped by repetition into something efficient.
I nodded.
Turned.
The sound of the café followed me halfway up the stairs before thinning. By the time I reached the door, it had faded into something distant, like a memory of noise instead of the thing itself.
"Knock, knock."
I pushed the door open as I said it.
The room hadn't changed.
The light had moved further down the walls, retreating slowly, but everything else held. Mr David remained where he was, book still open. The report lay spread across the table exactly as I had left it.
I sat.
The chair felt colder now.
My fingers found the edge of the table again. Tapped once.
Then again.
The rhythm built without intention—small, controlled, repetitive.
"Don't be so nervous."
The words cut through it.
I stilled.
Looked up.
He hadn't moved.
His gaze remained on the page, expression unchanged, voice delivered without lifting from what he was reading.
I turned instead.
The window drew me.
Outside, the sky deepened—orange stretching into gold, then thinning toward something cooler at the edges. The light lingered like it wasn't ready to leave.
"How would the carrier pigeon find this place."
The question came quieter.
Less about the answer.
More about holding onto something stable.
"Hmm."
He nodded slightly.
"I am in the home loft."
The answer didn't resolve much.
But it was enough for him.
A knock followed.
Soft.
Measured.
The door opened just enough.
"Here you go."
Mr Nathan stepped in, tray balanced in his hands. He placed it down carefully—cup, saucer, plate aligned without sound. The smell rose immediately.
Coffee.
Warm.
Chocolate softening the edge of it.
The muffins still held heat, a faint trace of butter and flour lingering in the air.
"Thank you."
He stepped back.
As he moved, something flickered—
A memory.
A pigeon arriving.
Then dissolving.
Breaking into something like light before being received.
I blinked.
The image faded before it settled.
"Should I close the window."
His hand rested lightly against the frame.
Air moved through the opening in a thin stream, carrying distant sound with it.
"No, thank you Nathan."
Mr David lifted his cup.
The motion was measured.
He took a sip like timing mattered.
"Alright."
The door closed.
Quiet returned.
The click barely registered.
I picked up my coffee.
The cup warmed my fingers immediately. The first sip settled heavier than expected—the chocolate rounding the bitterness into something softer, something easier to take in.
I reached for a muffin.
Tore it slightly.
Raised it—
"Chirp."
The sound cut through everything.
Sharp.
Immediate.
I froze.
The bird landed on the window's edge, wings folding in with a soft rustle. It tilted its head once, adjusting, then stilled completely.
"Let's go."
Mr David was already standing.
The book closed without a marker, set aside as if it held nothing worth returning to. Papers gathered in one motion—stacked, aligned, secured.
Nothing left behind.
I set the muffin down.
Stood.
Followed.
Downstairs again.
The café continued.
No interruption.
No shift.
No one looked up.
"Here."
He handed Mr Nathan some money.
No words exchanged.
No acknowledgment needed.
We left.
The airship dock waited just beyond the street.
Metal groaned softly as the vessel prepared itself, structure adjusting under its own weight. The last light of the day caught against its surface in dull reflections.
We boarded.
Moments later—
The ground fell away.
The city spread beneath us, lights beginning to flicker on in scattered patterns. The sky deepened further—orange fading into blue, then into something darker.
Time passed.
Unmeasured.
The airship shifted course once.
Then again.
The forest returned below.
Dense.
Unbroken.
Until—
A clearing.
We stepped out.
The air felt different immediately.
Cooler.
Softer.
Fireflies drifted through the space, their light blinking in uneven intervals. Small signals that didn't carry meaning, only presence.
Miss Alvie stood at the center.
Victoria was on her back.
Her body hung slightly to one side, weight supported fully. Her arms remained still. Her head rested low.
I couldn't tell—
Asleep.
Or not.
"What happened."
Mr David stepped forward.
The airship lifted behind us, its sound fading upward as it left.
Victoria was lowered onto the grass.
Face-first.
The movement was controlled.
Deliberate.
A dressing covered her abdomen.
Clean.
Secured.
Not rushed.
"She got cut but it is just skin and surface fat."
Miss Alvie's tone didn't shift.
"I have already stitched it. Give it time to heal."
Her hand rested briefly against Victoria's back.
Then lifted.
She looked at me.
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came.
The words stayed somewhere behind my teeth, caught before they could form.
I looked away.
We moved again.
The hospital appeared sooner than expected, its windows casting steady light into the night that had fully settled now.
Inside—
Everything was handled.
Quick.
Efficient.
Clean.
No urgency.
No alarm.
Just confirmation.
Everything had already been done correctly.
No one said anything.
But the feeling settled anyway.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
Embarrassment.
I had insisted.
And I had been wrong.
"She's asleep, you should get some too."
Miss Heiwa's voice softened the space slightly.
We stood beside the bed.
Victoria lay still, breathing steady, the rhythm quiet but present. The room held its own kind of silence—clean, contained, undisturbed.
I nodded.
Didn't argue.
Didn't speak.
Later, I lay down.
The bed felt unfamiliar beneath me, firm enough to hold without giving. The window remained slightly open, letting the outside in just enough to be noticed.
The sea reached us.
Distant.
Constant.
Unchanged.
It filled the space between thoughts.
But didn't stop them.
They moved.
Returned.
The clearing.
The smell.
The stillness.
The sight of her being carried back.
I hope she's okay.
The thought stayed longer than the others.
Then—
Sleep took the rest.