The fog had thinned overnight. Not gone. It was still drifting along the north corridor ceiling, slow and back and forth, like it was working through a problem from several directions. I'd checked it at dawn on my way to put fresh towels by the room. The towels were fine. The fog looked at me. I looked at the fog. We'd reached an understanding, which was that it could keep drifting if it stayed above head height and didn't touch the linen.
I went to make porridge.
Kern was asleep at table four, arms folded, chin on his chest. Renner was awake across from him with a cold cup and the fixed expression of a man replaying his evening looking for the moment it stopped making sense. The journalist was already back at the east window, writing steadily with the particular focus of someone who'd decided what the story was and just needed to get it down before it changed shape.
I respected that kind of commitment.
The porridge needed salt. I added some, tasted it, added more, decided that was probably right, and brought two bowls to table four.
"Morning. There's salt this time."
Renner looked up from the corridor. "We're still here."
"I noticed. I didn't charge you for the rooms since you didn't use them. Felt fair."
"We didn't leave," he said, like he was still deciding how he felt about that.
"Door was unlocked all night. Still is." I set the bowls down. "Eat something. You'll think better."
Renner elbowed Kern, who came up fast with one hand going for a sword that wasn't there because nobody wore their sword to cards night, then sat very still, looked at the ceiling, looked at the corridor, and looked at me.
"The fog is still up there," he said.
"It's a considerate fog. Staying above head height." I pulled up a chair. "The guest is particular about keeping things tidy. I appreciate that in someone."
"Aldous." He said it the way people said a name when they needed the name to carry the work of a much longer question. "What was it."
"Guest," I said. "North room. Paid in full, surcharge included."
"It came in with fog."
"Some do. The Abyss-adjacent ones especially, they tend to travel with their atmosphere, it's just how they're put together. I've got a clause for it in the guest agreement, section four, which I mention not to be difficult but because I find it's easier for everyone if the financial side is settled before anyone starts asking harder questions."
Kern looked at Renner. Renner had turned toward the corridor entrance, where the wood paneling had developed a grain that ran in two directions at once since sometime around midnight. It was one plank. That wasn't a thing one plank could do. The plank was doing it anyway, calmly, with no apparent interest in whether it was structurally possible.
"The wood," Renner said.
"I'll sand it when the guest checks out. Mostly cosmetic." I poured myself a cup. "Last spring a traveling merchant stayed three nights and the window frames on his side of the building grew a second layer of glass. Very clean. Excellent insulation. I kept it."
Kern looked at me for a long moment, then picked up his bowl and ate, because the porridge was hot and he was a practical man and some questions didn't have useful answers before breakfast. Renner watched him do it, then did the same, because that was how Renner operated. He needed to see someone else commit first. Once he committed he was fully in.
They ate. The fog drifted. The journalist's pen didn't stop.
Officer Davan arrived at half past nine with his report ledger already open. He was young for his rank, with the posture of someone who'd rehearsed this visit on the walk over and the eyes of someone whose rehearsal hadn't covered the ceiling. He introduced himself as Officer Davan, Third Ward, Abyss Perimeter Division, and I told him that was a very thorough title and asked if he'd eaten.
"I'm fine," he said, professionally. "We're conducting routine inquiries following last night's alarm event. An unclassified pressure reading in the eastern district." He looked at me. "Did you observe anything unusual?"
"Late check-in," I said. "North room. Paid in full. Very agreeable guest."
He wrote something. "Can you describe the individual?"
"Tall. Bit foggy. Hasn't asked for breakfast yet but I've left the option open. Some guests need a day to settle before they want anything. You know how it is."
"You mentioned fog," he said carefully.
"Atmospheric residue. Standard for guests coming in from the Abyss side. It's in the guest agreement, there's a clause."
He wrote more. It took longer this time. Behind him, the fog had drifted another foot out from the corridor, and where it passed over the entrance the wood grain moved with it, running one direction, then the other, following the drift. It did this without any urgency at all.
Davan turned around. He looked at the ceiling for four full seconds. Kern had gone completely still across the room with his spoon halfway to his mouth. Renner was watching Davan the way someone watches a person walking toward a step they haven't noticed yet.
Davan looked back at his ledger. Then at the ceiling again. Then he wrote something that took longer than everything else combined, closed the ledger, and told me in a careful voice that if I observed anything further I should report to the Third Ward office on Callen Street.
"Of course," I said warmly. "Sure about the porridge? I have a lid for it. Travels well."
He left without the porridge.
The door closed. Kern put his spoon down. "He wrote down nothing unusual," he said.
"Almost certainly."
"He saw the ceiling, Aldous."
"He did. But nothing unusual is a much shorter form to fill out than the alternative. The Third Ward has a lot of open incident reports this month. He's being practical."
Renner looked at me steadily. "How do you know how many incident reports they have open."
I got up to clear Davan's untouched cup.
At the east window, the journalist closed his notepad, settled his tab without a word, and walked out into the grey morning with the stride of a man who knew exactly where he was going. I watched him from the window until he turned the corner onto the main road heading toward the print houses on Vessel Street.
The system logged something just after he disappeared from view.
[SYSTEM LOG」
Rumor Thread Initiated: Eastern District, Unclassified Incident
Legend Resonance: Minor Fluctuation Detected
Inn Recognition: Status Updated
New Classification Pending: Abyssal Waypoint (Unconfirmed)
I read it once. Then I went to check on the corridor and see if the fog wanted anything.
It was still drifting. Moving the same stretch of ceiling it had been moving all morning, patient and methodical, the way something works through a problem it's been sitting with for longer than the building has existed.
That was fine. Some guests just needed time.