Venice in the afternoon felt viscous.
Light clung to the air, and the reflections on the water lagged just slightly behind the movement of the clouds above.
Jeff slowed as he turned into a narrower alley.
The figure beneath the bridge overlapped with a familiar silhouette from memory.
Ayla hadn't noticed him yet.
She stood by the water, head lowered as she checked her phone signal. Her finger tapped the screen twice, then fell away without purpose. Her headphones rested around her neck, the cord swaying gently as she turned her head.
A small distance separated them—just enough to confirm the other's presence.
Jeff didn't speak first.
Not until Ayla lifted her head, her gaze passing his shoes before slowly rising to his face.
In that instant, her fingers tightened around the headphone cord, knuckles paling.It was a habit she only had when nervous—one he had seen once before, years ago, just before a high-risk operation.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
Her voice was lower than usual, surprise slipping through the end of the sentence. Her eyes avoided his, drifting instead toward the canal.
"Passing through," Jeff replied, grinding the moss between the stones beneath his shoe.
Ayla fell silent for two seconds.
Her gaze dropped to Patch at his feet, then returned. Her throat moved as if she wanted to say something, but in the end, she only said,"This doesn't feel like a place you just pass through."
Her fingers loosened from the cord, then tightened again behind her back.
Jeff didn't deny it. He only nodded.
"Fair."
The silence between them filled with the sound of oars slicing through water. Waves struck the stone walls and echoed back, landing precisely in the gaps between their breaths.
Ayla glanced at him, just briefly.
He looked the same—calm, unchanged—and the sight stirred an unfamiliar sense of loss she couldn't quite explain.
Patch hopped onto the stone railing, sniffed one of the golden masks on display, then turned away, tail flicking lazily. Sweet things interested him more.
The crowd flowed forward.
Music faded, swallowed by water, leaving only the steady rhythm of oars.
They ended up walking along the same path again, the distance between them slightly reduced.
Neither mentioned the mask.Neither asked why the other had come.
Ayla walked on the right, her shoulders easing just a little. She kept a careful angle—close enough to see his profile, careful enough not to be caught watching.
She wanted to know what he had gone through these past days.
At the end of the alley stood a small restaurant.
No sign.Just a chalkboard by the door listing today's dishes, the writing still fresh.
Ayla paused at the step. Her eyes brightened—then dimmed again.
"Do you want to eat?" she asked.
It sounded like she was speaking to herself, or maybe offering the thought aloud. A faint, unguarded eagerness slipped into her voice.
It was a place they had once found together, by accident, on a past trip.
Jeff glanced at the board.
"Okay."
The door creaked as Ayla pushed it open—slower than it should have.
She hesitated, looked back at Jeff, said nothing, and stepped inside. Just as she crossed the threshold, the corner of her mouth lifted—barely.
There were no other customers.
The tables were small, the chairs low, requiring a slight bend to sit comfortably.
The owner, an elderly man in a checkered shirt, asked no questions. He nodded once and disappeared into the kitchen.
Moments later, he returned with a plate of fried seafood.
The batter was thin. The flavor simple—sea salt and lemon.
Patch jumped onto a chair and leaned toward the plate, nose circling once. He showed particular interest in a squid ring dusted lightly with sugar. His tail tip brushed Jeff's wrist.
"Only one," Jeff said quietly, sliding it to the edge.
Patch seized it immediately, leapt down, and retreated to a corner to chew. When he landed, his movement stalled for half a beat—his tail lingering in the air.
Exactly like the delay in the water's reflection.
Patch looked down at his paws. Then out toward the canal.
When they left the nameless restaurant, sunlight poured into the bend of the waterway, turning the surface gold.
A water bus slid past them, waves spreading outward before striking the stone walls and folding back into intricate patterns.
Ayla lowered her gaze to the water.
Her brow twitched. Her fingers tightened. Her breath caught for an instant.
That delayed moment brought back memories of recent events—and a quiet fear followed.
"You saw it too," Jeff said softly, as if not to disturb whatever lay beneath the surface.
Ayla didn't answer right away.
She watched a single ripple closely.
It should have stopped.
Instead, it pushed forward half a step more before fading.
"The moment humans can't perceive," she said at last.
Her tone was certain, as if reciting data verified countless times. Yet her fingers clenched the fabric at her side. She was afraid—afraid this city's anomaly would spiral into something irreversible, like before.
Jeff nodded.
He had seen it too.
The timing matched the internal rhythm of the source point within him. He tapped the stone railing unconsciously.
Ayla looked up at him. His expression remained steady, and somehow, her fear lessened.
She loosened her grip and took a slow breath.
Patch hopped down the steps and approached the water, staring at his reflection.
The reflection lagged.
His tail traced an arc in the air while the image on the surface remained behind.
Patch flattened his ears, turned away, and pressed his head against Jeff's leg.
They continued walking.
The alley grew quieter. The number of tourists hadn't changed, but the sound had dulled—as if the city itself had been turned down a notch.
Ayla stopped at a wooden rack of masks.
Only the white one remained—the one with fine cracks along its edge—now placed in the most visible spot. The gold mask beside it was gone.
The vendor was nowhere to be seen.
A note lay beneath the rack.
The handwriting was casual:
Take it. No charge.
Ayla lifted the white mask. The cracks looked as if they had been forced outward from the inside.
She turned it over.
At the center was a thin etched line—an unfinished symbol.
Inside Jeff, the source point trembled.
A brief pulse.
A message: the passage was open.
Ayla pressed the mask to her face for half a second, then removed it.
Jeff noticed her breathing change.
Between each inhale and exhale, a nearly imperceptible pause appeared—like the ripple that moved one step too far.
Like the city itself.
Ayla traced the crack with trembling fingers.
The mask and the city were connected. She was sure of it.
She looked up at Jeff, caught him watching, and quickly looked away. She slipped the mask into her bag, not wanting him to see her fear—nor know how deeply she feared what might come next.
Ripples spread from the center of the canal.
When they reached the stone walls, they didn't return.
They passed straight through.
A water bus docked in the distance. The doors opened.
People disembarked.
No one boarded.
The vessel waited, then closed its doors and departed.
No one found it strange.
Everyone's reactions were just a little too slow.
Patch leapt onto the railing, back to the water.
Jeff looked at Ayla.
Her fingers still trembled as she closed her bag, her expression carefully composed. She offered no explanation.
The bridge was low—low enough to require a natural bend.
The alley narrow—narrow enough to walk side by side.
Ayla walked on the inner side. Her shoulder brushed Jeff's, and she quickly stepped away, warmth rising to her cheeks. She glanced at him, saw his indifference, and felt an inexplicable loss settle again.
The city didn't push anything forward.
It simply allowed the overflow of that imperceptible moment—the one humans couldn't sense—to spread quietly beneath every surface.