It started with the chimes.
They didn't ring.
Not loudly. Not at all.
The wind passed gently through the shrine that evening, brushing through trees, slipping beneath the overhangs, curling past the hanging charms. But the chimes stayed still.
Yuzume paused mid-step.
Her arms were full of fresh laundry, the warmth of folded robes pressed against her chest, the scent of soap and lavender rising in little puffs. But her feet wouldn't move.
She looked up.
Stillness.
The paper lanterns hadn't fluttered. The trees weren't rustling. The air was… wrong. Not cold. Not hot. Just quiet in a way that felt too deep, like a hush before a question.
"Hmm," she said aloud, trying to shake it off. "Maybe the spirits are napping."
She continued walking, a little quicker now, robes clutched tighter.
Inside, Riku was setting the table: two bowls, two cups, a small dish of pickled radish she had personally declared "absolutely inedible but good for spirit offerings." He smiled when he saw her.
"Hey. You okay?"
"Hm? Yes. Of course. Everything's fine," she said too fast. "Why wouldn't it be?"
He tilted his head. "You're squeezing that laundry like it owes you money."
She blinked, looked down, then let out a nervous laugh. "Just, uh, airing it out. Spirit blessings. Fluffing them with positive intent."
"Mhm."
She handed him the robes and quickly busied herself with tea.
But even as she poured, she noticed the way the steam rose, strangely crooked, like it hesitated before drifting upward. And the flame under the kettle had flickered earlier than usual. The sun, too, had dipped faster below the trees.
None of it meant anything. Not really.
And yet.
She sat across from him and tried to smile. "Did you know the river didn't hum today?"
He looked up from his bowl. "It hums?"
"It usually does. But today it just… sighed."
There was a beat of silence between them. Not awkward. Just thoughtful.
Riku leaned forward slightly. "You're worried about something."
Yuzume poked at her rice. "The veil feels strange lately. Like it's thinner. More tired."
"Could it be the moon?"
"Maybe."
"Or you?"
She looked up sharply.
"What if," he said, voice soft, "you're the one that's changing?"
Yuzume opened her mouth, then paused. Her fingers brushed her cup. The warmth didn't comfort her the same way it usually did.
"…Maybe," she whispered.
The rest of the meal passed in small talk and quiet sips. They pretended nothing was different. They pretended tomorrow would come like always.
But that night, when Yuzume sat alone on the porch, brushing her tail beneath the stars, the chimes still didn't move.
And for the first time since she could remember, the shrine felt just a little too quiet.