Days coiled around themselves.
One became two. Two became several. Morning blurred into evening, and evening folded back into morning with little to distinguish one from the next beyond the weather and the occasional change of clothes.
I watched.
That was what I did best now.
Watch.
Observe.
Wait.
The bell above the bookshop door chimed softly.
"Back here again."
The thought drifted through my mind as I saw her enter.
Victoria stepped inside carrying the cold with her, a faint cloud of breath escaping before the door shut behind her. She greeted the owner, received a familiar nod in return, and made her way toward the same table she always seemed to occupy.
The girl was already there.
Mayumi.
The aspiring mage.
The one preparing to leave for the West.
I watched them from deeper inside the shop, hidden behind shelves and rows of books that smelled of dust, ink, and age.
My fingers drifted across a spine before selecting a book at random.
"Cinderella."
I opened it.
Read a page.
Then another.
But even the story felt wrong.
Everything reminded me of her absence.
I lowered the book slightly.
"I'm trying to figure out what to study."
Victoria's voice carried through the gaps between shelves.
"Why not be a mage like me?" Mayumi asked.
I waited for Victoria's answer.
None came.
At least none that reached me.
The conversation moved on, swallowed by the ordinary sounds of turning pages and distant voices.
I looked back down at the book.
The words blurred.
"I would like to be a tailor or a lawyer when we leave here. What about you?"
The memory surfaced unexpectedly.
My cousin's voice.
A warm summer night.
A smile illuminated by lantern light.
I remembered her laughter when I answered.
Not a profession.
Not a dream.
Not a future.
Just her.
I had wanted to remain by her side.
That had been enough.
At least back then.
A strange smile touched my lips.
"A mage and a well-to-do family."
My eyes drifted toward Mayumi.
"Even her friends have a good life."
The thought should have been harmless.
Instead, it hurt.
More than it should have.
The smile remained anyway.
A dull ache spread through my chest.
My vision blurred slightly.
I blinked.
The book became readable again.
Across the room, Victoria was speaking with the others.
Comfortably.
Naturally.
Like someone who belonged.
Like someone who always had.
I looked away.
The bookshop suddenly felt too warm.
Too crowded.
Too full of things I couldn't touch.
Something about that thought made me want to leave.
Later that day, I found myself across the street.
The cold wind tugged lightly at my sleeves. People passed carrying parcels, newspapers, and groceries. The city continued existing around me.
I barely noticed.
Victoria emerged from the bookshop carrying several books beneath one arm. She paused to adjust her coat before continuing down the street.
I followed her with my eyes.
Nothing more.
Just watching.
"I wonder what you have to say that you talk to yourself."
She often did that.
Murmuring under her breath.
Making expressions no one else seemed to understand.
Sometimes smiling.
Sometimes frowning.
Sometimes laughing at things only she could hear.
It should have been strange.
Instead, it made her seem more alive than anyone else.
Then my eyes lifted.
Higher.
Past her.
Past the street.
Toward the building she entered every morning.
The Liaison building.
The Concord.
The structure rose above the neighbouring buildings with effortless confidence.
Stone.
Glass.
Flags moving lazily in the wind.
People entered and exited throughout the day.
Officials.
Messengers.
Employees.
Visitors.
"Wow."
The word escaped me before I realized it.
It was beautiful.
Not simply because it was large.
Because it represented something.
Opportunity.
Status.
Purpose.
Belonging.
Things that seemed impossibly distant.
Things people like me weren't supposed to have.
The carriage eventually arrived.
Victoria climbed inside.
I watched it leave.
Watched it carry her home.
Then watched it carry her back to work on other days.
The routine repeated itself.
Again.
And again.
And again.
The cold days pooled together.
Accumulating.
Heavy.
Like water gathering behind a dam.
Like misery.
The weekends were somehow worse.
People rested.
Visited friends.
Spent money.
Enjoyed themselves.
Lived.
I wandered.
"Having time and money."
I stopped beside a shop window.
My reflection stared back.
"Having the freedom to even be."
The words felt bitter.
The Concord uniforms were beautiful.
Practical.
Clean.
Purposeful.
Even that woman in the hanfu carried herself with confidence.
Everyone seemed to know where they belonged.
Everyone except me.
Or maybe that was just what I saw when I looked at them.
The realization burned.
"Good evening."
The innkeeper looked up as I entered.
Or perhaps he didn't.
I wasn't entirely certain my voice had carried that far.
He nodded anyway.
I climbed the stairs.
Each step creaked beneath my weight.
The hallway remained quiet.
The room welcomed me with darkness and moonlight.
Silver light spilled through the window while everything else remained in shadow.
I shut the door.
The click echoed briefly.
Then silence returned.
I sat on the edge of the bed.
The steamed bun in my hand had already gone cold.
I took a bite anyway.
Chewed slowly.
The room felt larger than usual.
The silence deeper.
The absence more obvious.
Moonlight pooled across the floorboards. It illuminated everything except the corner where I sat.
I stared at it.
The debt.
The brothel.
The promises.
The offer.
Everything seemed louder at night.
I heard footsteps in the hallway.
My head turned immediately.
For one ridiculous moment, I expected her.
The thought arrived before logic.
Before reason.
Before common sense.
The footsteps continued.
Passed my door.
Kept going.
I lowered my eyes.
"Force of habit."
The words sounded hollow.
Even I didn't believe that.
I lay down.
Pulled the blanket over myself.
Closed my eyes.
Sleep never arrived when invited.
The footsteps were gone.
The silence remained.
"Hoshiko."
The name slipped free before I could stop it.
The room offered no response.
I turned away from the moonlight.
My hand found the dagger beneath the pillow.
The familiar grip settled into my palm.
Comfort.
Memory.
Pain.
All at once.
A long breath escaped me.
Then another.
The boss's offer returned.
It always did.
Freedom from debt.
A chance at revenge.
The two rewards dangled together like bait.
Freedom.
Revenge.
Reality.
Fantasy.
I laughed quietly.
The sound felt wrong in the darkness.
A little desperate, too.
Eventually exhaustion won where reason had failed.
Sleep arrived.
Morning came.
Nothing had changed.
My resolve remained exactly where it had always been.
Waiting.
Coiled.
Patient.
Like a snake beneath the grass.
"Good morning. To the South Liaison building."
The carriage driver nodded.
The journey began.
The silver sun hung above the city.
Cold.
Distant.
Watching.
The streets slowly filled with life.
Vendors.
Workers.
Students.
Messengers.
Everyone moving toward somewhere important.
I arrived early.
Far too early.
The clock had barely reached half past eight.
Victoria was nowhere in sight.
I entered the tea shop anyway.
The familiar warmth greeted me.
A cup of coffee soon followed.
Steam rose lazily from the dark surface.
I took a sip.
Immediately regretted it.
"Bitter."
I added sugar.
Then another cube.
Then another.
The spoon clinked softly against porcelain.
Still bitter.
That felt appropriate somehow.
My hand slipped into my sleeve.
Fingers wrapped around the dagger hidden there.
Not because I intended to use it.
Perhaps.
Or perhaps because I needed the reassurance.
The steel remained cool.
Solid.
Real.
Outside, a carriage rolled past.
Then another.
Time crawled.
The coffee slowly disappeared.
Eventually, the shop door opened.
My breath caught.
Victoria.
She entered carrying the morning with her.
Coat buttoned.
Books beneath one arm.
Expression still half asleep.
She greeted the owner.
Received her usual breakfast.
Then sat alone.
No colleagues.
No friends.
No distractions.
Alone.
The opportunity appeared so suddenly it almost felt unreal.
My pulse quickened.
A part of me almost stood immediately.
Another part hesitated.
Only for a moment.
I drained the final mouthful of coffee and set the cup down.
The bitterness lingered on my tongue.
For some reason, it tasted good now.
I stood.
The chair scraped softly against the floor.
My breathing shortened.
Slowly.
Carefully.
My hand slipped deeper into my sleeve.
The dagger rested where it always had.
Comfort.
Strength.
Resolve.
Outside, the city continued moving.
Carriages rattled.
Voices drifted through the morning air.
Life carried on.
Unaware.
And blessed with luck, she was alone.