Hours Before The Art Exhibition
The first rays of sunlight crept across the wooden floor of Café Lyrä, slipping through the lace curtains and painting the tables in gold.
The air still held the faint perfume of roasted beans and candle wax, races of last night's warmth refusing to fade.
Sayuri stirred awake on the couch behind the counter, a blanket draped over her shoulders.
She rarely slept this late, but the quiet comfort from the evening before had weighed on her like a lullaby.
For the first time in a long while, her dreams hadn't been sharp or cruel.
Just… soft.
She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes before tying her hair into a loose bun.
The reflection in the glass door stared back at her: calm, tidy, composed.
But beneath that mask, her chest still felt oddly full, as though something had taken root there overnight.
"Renji Sakamoto…" she murmured under her breath.
The name lingered in her mouth, familiar and unsettling all at once.
