January 9, 2030
Timothy woke to the sound of water moving.
Not waves crashing. Just the steady pull and push of the shoreline, like someone dragging a sheet across concrete. The room was dim, curtains not fully closed. A thin strip of morning light cut across the floor.
Hana was already awake.
She sat on the edge of the bed with her hair tied up, phone in hand. Her face looked calm but tight. When she noticed Timothy's eyes open, she locked the screen and set the phone down like it had bitten her.
"Emergency?" Timothy asked.
"No," Hana replied.
Timothy waited.
Hana exhaled once. "Not an emergency. Just messages that want to pretend they are."
Timothy sat up, rubbed his face, and looked toward the balcony. The air conditioner had cycled off. The room felt humid. He could smell salt even inside. Outside, a scooter passed somewhere. A bird kept repeating the same call.
Hana stood and rolled her shoulders like she was clearing stiffness out of joints.
