Morning found them like mercy.
Light pushed through the curtains in uneven bands. The apartment didn't smell like tea, laundry soap, like it always used to. Instead, it was more like whatever festival smoke had followed them home. Keahi was a fossil in a blanket on the couch. Arashi had become a cautionary tale in the armchair, neck at an angle no neck respects. Hikari was already on her knees by the low table, slow and careful, lining up four cups because order helped her mornings make sense. Raizen stood at the sink, watching the faucet until it made it remember how to flow water.
His right hand kept checking the inside pocket of his jacket. The small folded packet sat there like a heartbeat - light, warm, ridiculous. Shiny brass stars, four points each. He closed the pocket again like closing a secret.
"Status report?" Arashi croaked. "I am dying."
"You're just dramatic," Keahi said into the blanket. "I am dying."
