I woke with the faintest presence of sunlight brushing my eyelids.
For a moment, I did not move.
My heart was already heavy.
The crack of dawn had begun spilling quietly across the room, pale gold stretching along the floorboards and climbing the walls as though time itself had crept in without knocking.
"Heiwa. It's morning."
The words came out sharper than I intended. I wrestled gently out of her arms, the warmth of her still clinging to me.
"What—" she mumbled, rubbing at her eyes, her hair graceless and defiant around her face. "There's still about thirty minutes of sleep left."
She rolled onto her back in protest before eventually sitting up, reaching to straighten the futon with sleepy discipline.
I hurried to the bathroom, panic humming under my skin. Only when I stepped into the warm water did my body finally begin to settle. Steam rose, softening the edges of the morning. I forced my breathing to slow.
Today was real.
After bathing, I placed my sponge into the toiletry bag — the last unpacked item waiting to be sealed away. That simple motion made everything feel irreversible.
"Heiwa, the bath is open," I called out, pulling on my undergarments and reaching for one of the more comfortable gowns we had purchased back in the capital. The fabric fell familiar against my skin. I needed familiar.
"You're up early."
I startled.
Dōngzhì stood at the threshold of my room, as though she had always been there.
"Good morning," I greeted, masking the surprise I felt at not having sensed her approach.
"Worried," she said simply, stepping inside.
Her eyes dropped to my leg.
Only then did I notice it — jittering restlessly.
"…mm-hmm," I admitted.
"You will be fine." She pulled my head gently to her chest. The gesture was firm, grounding. "You will be fine," she repeated, slower this time.
"Good morning, Aunt Dōngzhì," Heiwa greeted as she passed by, wet hair clinging stubbornly to her face.
"Good morning, dear," Dōngzhì replied, turning slightly while still holding me. "Make sure to dress your hair properly."
Then she released me.
"Breakfast will be ready soon."
When she left, Heiwa raised a brow. "You're already dressed."
"You're late," I replied, though without heat.
By the time the sun had fully risen, we were seated at the table.
The atmosphere felt different — not tense, not heavy — but aware. As though the house itself knew something was changing.
"Are you nervous?" Miss Li Hua asked, slicing neatly into her omelette.
I nodded. My meal remained mostly untouched.
"It's a new environment," she said, lifting her miso soup. "But you will be fine."
"You've handled me," Mr. Mumeishi added dryly, sipping his tea. "What is a new location compared to that?"
I almost smiled.
Almost.
We departed not long after.
"I packed you a little something for the road," Himitsu said, handing us a neatly wrapped boxed lunch.
"Thank you," we replied together.
We prayed before stepping down from the shrine steps. The morning air was crisp, clean — painfully ordinary.
The carriage ride was short, wheels humming along familiar paths. And soon enough, we stood before theButterfly Apothecary.
"Look at my girls!"
Miss Hazel swept toward us before we could properly brace ourselves. I began apologizing immediately for not visiting sooner, but she dismissed it with a firm hug that smelled faintly of dried herbs and citrus peel.
Over her shoulder, I noticed Ezra sweeping.
"Ezra—"
I stopped mid-word.
Another stepped out of the shop.
At first glance, identical.
But no.
Subtle differences lived in posture.
This one stood reclined, limbs loose but ready. Half-lidded eyes, faint disinterest — yet their movements were fluid, controlled. Graceful in a way that suggested restraint rather than laziness.
"Limbs loose but ready," Heiwa murmured quietly beside me.
Ezra, by contrast, stood upright with a straight spine. Deliberate movements. Minimal gestures. And yet somehow, they controlled the space around them without effort.
Chin slightly raised. Measured gaze.
A micro-smile that seemed to say: I see everything. And I decide what matters.
Miss Hazel returned with a basket.
"Zinnia would be so upset she missed you," she mused, pressing it into our hands before hugging us again. Her silver hair caught in the morning light, ears peeking sharply through.
"Do write to us."
"We will," I promised — unsure whether I wanted that hug to last longer or end immediately.
"The chairman wishes you well," Ezra said.
For reasons I could not articulate, I felt he had nudged the scales in our favor regarding this outcome.
"…Hmm," was all I managed.
"They stored these away," the other added, handing back our weapons.
I still did not understand why they chose to live with Miss Hazel. But some questions are better left unopened.
"Good morning," I greeted the last figure near the doorway.
They gave a small wave.
Their irises held the same faint ring pattern I had once noticed in Eris.
Buné, I thought.
Demon.
The faintest smile answered me.
No denial.
Soon after, we continued on with Dōngzhì to the train station.
Tickets purchased.
Platform waiting.
"Send a message when you arrive," she said, hugging us tightly once more.
"Heiwa," she added, cupping her cheek gently, "write home."
Heiwa nodded.
I swallowed whatever wanted to rise in my throat.
I had eaten too little from anxiety, too afraid of needing the toilet during travel. So the small sweet Aunt Hazel had packed became salvation.
The train arrived with a mechanical sigh.
We boarded.
I chose the window seat.
As the engine stirred and the countryside began to slide past, I watched Liǎnglíng — the twin-spirit province — recede in long stretches of green and tiled rooftops.
Heiwa sat opposite me, resting lightly against the open window, hair shifting in the wind.
The train was not crowded.
But not empty either.
Just enough strangers to make us anonymous.
Just enough space to let this moment belong to us.
Civic twilight.
Between one life and another.
Between shrine steps and headquarters halls.
Between who we had been — and who we were about to become.
Neither of us spoke.
We didn't need to.
The tracks carried us forward anyway.