{EMY}
My apartment felt too quiet when I returned.
The door clicked shut behind me, and the silence rushed in, thick and immediate.
I set my bags down carefully, lining them up by the wall like they needed to be organized just to make the place feel less empty.
That was when I remembered.
"Schrodinger," I murmured.
I checked the time.
Right.
I grabbed my keys again and headed back out, this time toward the pet house—a clean, well-lit place tucked between a café and a florist.
It was where Ren sometimes left Schrodinger whenever he was away.
They specialized in live-in care for pets whose owners traveled often. It was practical and safe.
Still, guilt pricked at me as I walked inside.
The attendant smiled. "Picking someone up?"
"Yes," I said. "A cat. Very judgmental. His name is Schrodinger. Here's the ID Card."
She laughed. "Ah. Schrodinger."
Of course.
A few minutes later, they brought him out.
