Jun woke without rush.
No message. No prompt. No system tone or blinking cue.
But something in the morning air felt... arranged.
The window was half open, and the light that filtered in wasn't golden yet—just soft, diffused, like it had passed through cloth before touching the floorboards.
The two cloths lay folded exactly where he'd left them the night before—one atop the other, not in hierarchy, but in rhythm. The second now held the faint outline of the folded paper from the child, and beside them, Theo's chestnut pastry rested like an unopened chapter.
The air had cooled during the night. Not enough to bite, but enough to make the warmth from the inside kettle feel like a held breath waiting to exhale.
Jun didn't check the system log.
He didn't need to.
---
The plaza took longer to shape itself.
