**Chapter 1: Morning Channel**
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.
Steady breathing came from beside me.
I opened my eyes. The room was dark. Blackout curtains sealed everything outside within.
I reached out and touched the surface of the nightstand. The curtains slid open to both sides.
The sea breeze slipped through the porthole gap, carrying a salty dampness and the scent of coffee drifting from the distant kitchen. From far down the corridor came the muffled thud of slippers on carpet, then it faded around the corner.
"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.
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.
"Sister, did you get them ready?"
"Ready."
The mattress vibrated. Tsukago sat up, hair a mess, the sash of her sleeping gown half undone.
"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.
By the time Tsukago had changed into the mist-pink dress, I was already in the jet-black dress. We stood side by side before the full-length mirror.
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.
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.
——From now on, let me see who exactly are the targets.
I stared at the line, then turned the phone over and placed it face down on the nightstand.
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.
"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. The carpet swallowed all our footsteps.
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.