The world folded in on itself.
Not with force. Not with rupture.
It narrowed.
Edges softened first—the straight lines of the clerk's desk losing their certainty, the polished floor dulling into something less reflective, less real. Movement continued around me, but it no longer held shape. People passed, but their outlines stretched, thinned, like they were being pulled away from where they stood.
I blinked.
Nothing corrected.
Sound followed.
Voices didn't stop—they slipped. Each word dragged slightly behind itself, as if the space between speaker and listener had quietly expanded. What reached me was hollow. An impression of noise rather than the thing itself.
My chest tightened.
I inhaled.
The breath came in short.
Not enough.
I tried again.
Air entered, but it didn't settle. It hovered somewhere high, refusing to drop where it was needed. My ribs expanded, then stalled, like something inside them resisted the motion.
I took a step back.
My heel met the floor.
Solid.
But the ground felt… delayed.
As if it responded half a moment too late.
Then—
Everything dropped.
My balance slipped without warning. The space beneath me gave way—not physically, but in agreement—and my body followed it down before I could correct.
"Are you okay?"
A hand caught my arm.
Firm.
The pressure cut through everything else—sharp, immediate, undeniable. It anchored me mid-fall, halting the motion before it completed.
"Huh… Miss Alvie…"
My voice came out thin.
Strained at the edges.
She didn't answer.
Her grip shifted instead, tightening just enough to stabilize me as she pulled me upright. The movement was smooth—controlled—like she had already decided what would happen next.
"Let's sit down."
She was already moving.
My feet followed.
Not by choice.
Each step lagged slightly behind intention, my weight shifting forward a fraction too late, then correcting itself. The floor held steady now, but the sense of instability lingered in the joints, in the small adjustments I couldn't quite stop making.
We passed the desk.
The clerk adjusted her posture.
Her eyes met mine for a second.
Recognition.
Concern.
Then it closed.
Filed away.
Procedure resumed.
The chair met the back of my legs.
I lowered myself into it.
The cushion gave under my weight—softer than expected. The dip felt wrong. Too yielding. My hands settled on my knees, fingers curling inward as a faint tremor worked its way up from somewhere deeper than muscle.
I focused on my breathing.
In.
Too fast.
Out.
Too slow.
Again.
No rhythm held.
"Did… I do something wrong?"
The words slipped out.
My throat tightened immediately after, the muscles pulling inward as if they wanted to retract the sound.
"I thought we would have the chance to talk things over."
My gaze dropped to the floor.
The lines in the tile shifted slightly when I looked too long.
"Like we always do."
No answer came.
The space held still.
I leaned forward.
My forehead pressed against my arms, the fabric of my sleeves cool against my skin. The contact helped—barely—but enough to mark a difference. My breathing remained uneven, catching between shallow pulls and forced exhales.
Miss Alvie sat beside me.
Close enough that I could feel the slight shift of air when she adjusted.
She didn't speak.
She didn't move unnecessarily.
She stayed.
I turned my head slightly, looking through the gap between my arms.
"Did you know?"
She shook her head.
Slow.
Clear.
"David did not tell me anything about this."
Her voice stayed even.
Her hands held the bag we had bought earlier. The paper crinkled softly under her grip, the sound small but distinct against the larger quiet. The scent of bread rose faintly from it—warm, steady.
I swallowed.
My throat felt dry.
"Can we…"
The thought came quickly.
Too quickly.
"We can also transfer."
My body shifted forward before I finished speaking, weight moving toward my feet. My eyes flicked toward the desk again, tracking the distance, measuring it without fully seeing.
Her fingers closed around my wrist.
Gentle.
But firm enough to stop the motion.
"It would not be so simple."
"Why not?"
My gaze moved—her, the desk, the floor—never settling long enough to hold.
"Well."
She adjusted her sari with her free hand, the fabric sliding into place with a soft whisper.
"If I am not mistaken, she could have requested a transfer under externship."
"Externship…"
The word felt unfamiliar.
Unsteady.
"Training."
The clarification landed cleaner.
Something aligned.
Mr David.
Heiwa.
The pattern.
It made sense.
Too cleanly.
"Then we can do the same."
I leaned forward again.
The intention to stand formed before the movement completed.
Her grip tightened.
Not enough to hurt.
Enough to stop.
"No, we cannot."
The words settled.
Final.
"Ours does not work like that."
I stilled.
The forward motion halted halfway, leaving a slight tension in my shoulders that didn't release immediately.
"What do you mean?"
The question stumbled out.
Uncertain of its direction.
She looked at me.
Not briefly.
Fully.
"How much do you know of what you have?"
I blinked.
The question landed somewhere else entirely.
"I know it can kill me."
My hands shifted slightly on my knees, fingers pressing into the fabric.
"And it's not the mana mages use."
The answer stayed between us.
Incomplete.
She didn't respond right away.
The space held.
"You might need to learn more—"
She stopped.
The sentence ended without closing.
I watched her.
Waited.
Nothing followed.
I looked away.
"Then we can do my training at Heiwa's province."
The words came faster now, pushed forward before they could dissolve.
"If we just—"
She exhaled softly.
The sound carried just enough weight to interrupt.
"Aside from our abilities not requiring location-based training…"
Her hand adjusted the fold of her sari again, smoothing something that didn't need smoothing.
"…our roles make transfers much more difficult."
The words pressed down.
"We can assign new handlers."
A pause.
"But we can not be substituted."
The scent of bread drifted up again.
Warm.
Familiar.
Out of place.
I inhaled through my nose.
It grounded something small.
Then—
another thought surfaced.
Uninvited.
"What if she did not want to see me?"
The words came out quieter.
Thinner.
I looked away immediately, my gaze dropping to the floor as if avoiding her would erase what I had just said.
Silence followed.
Not heavy.
Not light.
It stayed.
I exhaled slowly.
"You are right."
The words felt unstable.
Like they didn't fully believe themselves.
"This might be good for us."
They sounded practiced.
Even to me.
"She must be training with Mr David."
I forced the idea forward.
"I should do the same."
I looked at Miss Alvie.
Her expression didn't shift much.
But something in it didn't settle.
"Is that what you want?"
The question was simple.
It stayed longer than it should have.
I nodded.
Once.
The motion felt easier than speaking.
"Okay."
She adjusted slightly in her seat.
"But we should head home first."
I nodded again.
This time, the movement came without resistance.
We stood.
The world had returned.
Not fully.
But enough.
Edges held.
Sound stayed closer.
The floor felt solid beneath each step.
We walked past the desk again.
I didn't look up.
Outside, the air met me immediately.
Cooler.
Cleaner.
It moved across my face, across my hands, carrying something that felt… unfiltered.
We made our way toward Min.
She saw me first.
Her posture shifted, and she stepped forward quickly, closing the distance before I could say anything.
Her arms wrapped around me.
The contact was immediate.
Solid.
Warm.
"Are you okay?"
Her voice was close.
Clear.
I nodded.
The motion pressed lightly against her shoulder before I pulled back just enough to breathe.
"Heiwa told us you got into a little trouble."
She looked at me now.
Searching.
"But she didn't go into detail."
"I got kidnapped."
The words came out flat.
Even.
"I'm already fine."
Her lips pressed together.
Held.
Then curved slightly.
Not quite a smile.
"No pie for you."
The words slipped out with a small exhale.
She tried not to react.
Her shoulders shifted slightly, holding something back.
"Why?"
A quiet laugh escaped anyway.
I didn't answer.
The moment passed.
"Yes."
Her tone softened.
"She told me about her transfer. To the central region."
"Training."
The word landed again.
Lighter.
Still sharp.
I didn't respond.
Neither did she.
The silence held.
Not uncomfortable.
Just… aware.
I handed her the bag.
The paper crinkled as it changed hands.
She took it without comment, adjusting her grip slightly to balance the weight.
We exchanged a brief look.
Then stepped back.
Goodbyes came without ceremony.
We turned.
Left.
The carriage ride back was quiet.
The seat shifted beneath me with each turn of the wheels, the motion steady, predictable. Outside, the city moved the same as always—people crossing streets, vendors calling out, carts rolling past in uneven rhythms.
Nothing had changed.
The sun dipped lower.
Light softened.
Gold replaced silver, stretching across the edges of buildings, pulling shadows longer across the ground.
I watched it without really seeing.
By the time we arrived, the day had begun to fold into evening.
We stepped down.
The ground held.
The air carried a faint coolness now.
The building stood ahead.
Unchanged.
Every line.
Every shadow.
Exactly where it had always been.
I stood there for a moment longer than necessary.
Looking.
Nothing shifted.
Nothing adjusted.
Everything remained.
Exactly the same.
Which—
somehow—
made it worse.