The morning light was faint.
Just as that pale ray of light squeezed through the hole in the granary, Seraphilia's figure was already standing within it.
She had arrived early.
Much earlier than the silent agreement from yesterday.
She had set out before dawn.
Using her last few Berries, she had exchanged them at the earliest-opening outdoor stall for two warm rye loaves and a small jar of fresh water.
And, two of the freshest apples she had specifically picked out.
It wasn't much, but it was her limit.
She wrapped the food and water in a larger piece of clean burlap and placed it in the same spot as yesterday.
That dry patch of ground between the abandoned wooden crates and moldy scrolls.
She didn't wait, nor did she hide the traces of her visit.
After setting the items down, she retreated to a pile of old canvas in another corner of the granary, curled up, and wrapped herself tightly in her cloak.
She closed her eyes.
This wasn't rest; it was waiting and observation.
The power of the Cloud-Cloud Fruit was suppressed to its minimum, maintaining only the most basic surveillance over the granary entrance and the food parcel.
She needed to know if Robin would come.
When she would come.
And in what state she would arrive.
Time flowed silently amidst the floating dust.
Outside the granary, the sounds of the marketplace began to rise, but this place seemed forgotten by the world, with only light and shadow shifting silently across the floor.
Near noon, footsteps echoed from the doorway.
They were so light they were almost non-existent.
Seraphilia didn't open her eyes, but her perception clearly outlined that small, thin silhouette.
She stopped in the shadows of the doorway for a long time.
Those pale blue eyes, like a beast searching for traps, swept over every inch of the granary's interior, including the canvas pile where Seraphilia was hidden.
Seraphilia's breathing was steady and long, her heartbeat slow and deep.
The perfect physiological state of an exhausted sleeper.
Finally, the figure moved.
She walked in, her steps as light as a cat's, heading straight for the burlap parcel.
She didn't take it immediately but squatted down, meticulously checking the dust around the parcel and the folds of the burlap.
She even lowered her head and gave it a light sniff.
Confirmed.
She reached out, quickly opened the parcel, grabbed a loaf of bread and an apple, and together with the jar of water, stuffed them into the worn little cloth bag in her arms.
Then she turned.
Like a startled hare, she vanished through the doorway silently and swiftly.
Throughout the entire process, she hadn't cast a single glance in Seraphilia's direction.
But Seraphilia knew that her every subtle movement was under the other's surveillance.
Not with eyes.
But with that already awakened Devil Fruit ability.
There were unnatural, faint ripples in the air, as if several pairs of invisible "eyes" had been added.
Beneath the shadow of her cloak, the corners of Seraphilia's mouth curled into a very shallow arc.
On the third day, she brought bread, water, apples, and a small packet of dried salted fish wrapped in oil paper.
Robin appeared even later, already in the afternoon.
Her movements were still swift, but the time she spent checking was longer.
This time, Seraphilia was "awake."
She sat far from the parcel, her back to the door, holding the fragments of the book "gazetteer of the west sea islands," reading intently.
She could feel the gaze on her back, lingering for a long time.
Scrutinizing, weighing.
She didn't look back.
Only when the faint footsteps and the rustle of food receded again did she gently close the book.
On the fourth day, it poured with rain.
When Seraphilia arrived, the granary was empty.
In the corner where Robin had taken the food yesterday, a few damp footprints were left behind.
She placed the parcel in the usual spot.
Inside, besides the food, there was an additional small bundle of dry firewood and two pieces of flint—exchanged with the last of her money.
She didn't leave.
She walked to the other side of the granary where the leak wasn't as bad and, using a few scrap wooden boards and canvas, managed to set up a narrow triangular space.
She sat inside and started a small fire.
The firelight dispelled the cold and brought a hint of warmth to this dim prison.
She waited quietly.
The sound of the rain crashed down, drowning out everything.
But Seraphilia's perception remained locked on the doorway.
After an unknown amount of time, a small, drenched figure stumbled inside.
It was Robin.
She was in a worse state than the previous days; her thin clothes clung to her body, water dripped from her black hair, the things she clutched in her arms were soaked, and her small face was blue with cold.
She saw the firelight immediately.
And in the glow of the fire, the silver-haired girl sitting in the crude shelter, her hair tinged with warm colors.
Her steps came to a sudden halt.
In her pale blue eyes, vigilance instantly surged to the extreme; her body tensed, ready to bolt back into the rain at any second.
"The fire was just started. The wood and flint are next to the parcel."
Seraphilia didn't look at her, only using a thin wooden stick to poke the fire, making the flames burn brighter.
Her voice carried through the rain, calm without a single ripple.
"It's dry over here. You can come and warm yourself."
"I won't come near you."
Robin stood where she was, motionless.
Rainwater dripped from her, spreading into a small puddle on the ground.
She was shivering, though it was unclear if it was from the cold or fear.
Seraphilia spoke no more and offered no further invitation.
She just sat quietly, occasionally adding a thin piece of wood, her gaze fixed on the dancing flames.
In the interplay of light and shadow, her profile appeared serene and harmless.
Time became viscous.
The sound of the rain, the crackling of the fire, and Robin's suppressed, faint shivering.
Finally.
That tiny foot, extremely slowly, moved one step toward the fire.
And another step.
She didn't walk toward Seraphilia but stopped two or three meters away from the fire, just where the edge of the light could reach her with its warmth.
She leaned against the cold brick wall and slowly slid down to a sitting position.
She still clutched the soaked items in her arms tightly.
Seraphilia saw clearly now; they were two even older books that had been preserved slightly better.
The two of them shared the same fire from a distance.
Neither spoke.
From her own parcel, Seraphilia took out the apple she had kept for herself and gently rolled it over.
The apple stopped at Robin's feet.
Robin looked down at the rosy fruit.