"So, what do we have to get this time?" Victoria asked, already skipping three steps ahead of me as if the morning itself were pulling her forward by invisible strings.
"Rice noodles," I said, pausing to flatten the folded shopping list against my palm. "Beef, fish sauce, green onion, bean sprouts, basil and—"
I stopped.
Victoria had drifted sideways, drawn like iron to a magnet. She stood at the newspaper stand, one foot lifted behind her lazily as she read.
"Someone sold a Bō staff for ¥200," she said brightly, as though she'd just announced a festival.
"That is enough for 10,000 bowls of noodles," I replied automatically, stepping closer. My eyes skimmed the column. "A Bō staff for 200 yen is rather strange. Why would the auction house sell it so high?"
Her smile widened.
"And limes," I finished, folding the list. I took her hand before she could disappear into speculation and tugged her gently back into motion.
The port district had grown busier with each passing week. Ships I did not recognize sat heavy in the harbor—larger, darker, their hulls scarred from long travel. Sailors barked orders in accents that bent the air in unfamiliar ways. The smell of brine tangled with coal smoke and fish guts.
Movement everywhere. Sound everywhere.
Dòngdàng.
Clatter. Commerce. Coin.
"Good morning, ladies! Can I interest you in some oxtail?" the butcher called from behind his polished counter, already grinning.
"Good morning, Mr.," Victoria leaned over the counter as if she owned it. "We would rather have some beef, please."
I circled the stall, scanning automatically. New faces. Two men pretending to inspect dried anchovies. A woman who had been at the apothecary last week now standing near the tea vendor. Patterns shifted too often lately.
"It's 60 sen," Victoria announced, running back toward me with far too much enthusiasm for someone spending my money.
While I negotiated for the rice noodles, she hovered, rocking back and forth on her heels. When the deal was struck, I handed her the coins.
"Don't lose it."
She saluted. "Have I ever?"
I stared at her.
She laughed and darted off.
We gathered everything piece by piece—the sharp scent of fish sauce sealed tight, basil wrapped in paper, limes cool and firm beneath my fingers. By the time we were done, the sky had shifted into a pale blue brushed with high white clouds. The breeze slipped beneath my sleeves, cool and gentle, almost kind.
"Shopping is such a hassle," Victoria complained as we started the walk back.
"What is the complaint now? I bought you the candy you wanted."
She turned her head away dramatically. Then I noticed the way her arms were straining under the wrapped meat.
"Do you need help with that?"
She paused.
Considered.
Her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"No."
Of course not.
We climbed the shrine steps slowly. The street had grown quiet behind us, the earlier noise fading into distant metallic rhythm. Victoria began making exaggerated grunt noises with each step, purely for performance.
"Your theatrics are unnecessary," I said.
"They add character."
"They add noise."
She grinned but did not argue.
At the top of the steps, the air shifted.
Subtle.
Wrong.
"Ah, you are back," Mr. Mumeishi called warmly from the veranda.
But my attention was elsewhere.
The breeze no longer felt neutral.
It bent around bodies.
Presence layered upon presence.
Controlled breathing.
Polished shoes against wood.
"Miss Victoria. Miss Heiwa."
The voice was smooth, trained.
A man in a well-tailored suit stood near the courtyard entrance. The cut of the fabric was precise, foreign. Behind him stood Ayami, hands folded neatly. Further off to the side—men positioned not casually enough to be guests.
And there—
The same lady from the clearing.
Miss Paige stood beside her, posture straight, gaze steady.
Victoria leaned slightly from behind me.
"Too many cooks spoil the pot."
The suited man smiled as though he appreciated wit.
I did not.
The groceries suddenly felt heavier in my hands.
Mr. Mumeishi's expression was polite. Calm. Too calm.
The breeze stilled.
The shrine steps behind us felt farther than they should have.
Dòngdàng.
Something had begun moving again—but this time, not in the market.
And not by accident.
Dòngdàng.
Something had begun moving again—
and this time, not in the market.