Consciousness surfaced from a long, lingering tremor.
The tremor came from below — the residual hum of massive machinery in motion, reaching skin through the mattress. Silence all around, save for the faint whir of the air circulation system and the low, muffled sound of seawater being cleaved by the bow. The two sounds layered together, like some enormous creature breathing.
Steady breathing came from beside me.
I opened my eyes. The room was dark. Blackout curtains blocked all outside light, except for a sliver of silver-white that seeped through the gap at the bottom. That line of silver cast an impossibly thin blade of light across the carpet.
I stared at that gap for a few seconds, then reached out and brushed my fingers across the smooth, cold surface of the nightstand. A light touch. The curtains slid open slowly, in both directions. The movement was unhurried, as though someone were drawing back a curtain inch by inch.
Light poured in as the gap widened — diluted gray at first, then pale gold softened by sea mist, until the entire panorama beyond the floor-to-ceiling window lay spread before me.
The sea. A lead-gray, boundless sea, merging into an equally lead-gray sky at the distant horizon. The hull cut steadily through this gray-blue expanse, leaving a long white wake behind. The wake stretched from the stern, a straight line carved across the water's surface, like an endless concrete road.
A muffled murmur came from behind me. I didn't turn around.
"Awake?"
"Not awake. This girl is still sleeping." The voice, muffled by the pillow, was soft and sticky, as if just fished out of a jar of honey.
The mattress vibrated. Dianzi turned over, burying her face deeper into the pillow, cocooning herself so that only strands of pinkish-purple hair were visible. The hair spread across the pillow like a small cluster of flower petals scattered by the wind.
I withdrew my gaze and sat up. "Didn't we agree to watch the morning sea?"
"That was Sister's idea. This girl only said she could cooperate."
I glanced at her, the corner of my mouth lifting slightly. "You. Ever since you were little, you've known how to leave yourself room. Saying you'll cooperate really means you don't want to get up."
A muffled laugh came from under the blanket. "As long as Sister knows."
I said nothing more. I raised my hand and brushed the Lingguang Armlet on my left wrist. A faint, cold light flickered, and two neatly folded outfits materialized in my palm out of thin air. I unfolded them and laid them out on the bed. The fabric caught the morning light with a soft luster.
The first was a jet-black lolita dress with a short bell-shaped skirt. The second was a mist-pink lolita dress with a short bell-shaped skirt.
The cocoon on the bed stirred. A strand of pinkish-purple hair peeked out, then half a face, one sleepy eye.
"Sister, did you get them ready?"
"Ready." I hung the two outfits side by side on the inside of the wardrobe door. "If you don't get up soon, this light will congeal. You'll have to eat it spoonful by spoonful."
"Perfect. This girl's breakfast is taken care of then. Just drink the light directly — zero calories and no dishes to wash."
The mattress vibrated. Dianzi sat up, hair a mess, the sash of her sleeping gown half undone. She rubbed her eyes, the motion still carrying the residue of sleep.
"This girl's morning cannot be skipped." She mumbled through her fingers. "If the light really does turn into pudding, this girl will cut it in half, half for you and half for me, and pour some sea-salt caramel sauce on top."
I moved aside. Her hand stopped mid-rub.
"Today's outfit — lolita."
"Of course. It suits you."
"Once I put this on, someone will probably say, 'Why is wifey so princessy today.'"
I looked into her eyes, my fingertips brushing the stray hair at her forehead. "Princess it is. Today, anyway, you're strawberry-flavored."
She paused, then laughed. The laugh was shut inside the bathroom door.
By the time Dianzi had changed into the mist-pink lolita, I was already in the jet-black. We stood side by side before the full-length mirror. In the reflection, two figures wrapped in exquisite fabric. Jet-black and mist-pink. The same short bell-shaped skirts, the same ribbon bows. Her lively brightness, my quiet sharpness.
I picked up my deep wine-red crossbody bag. She picked up her light pink crossbody bag.
My fingertips brushed the armlet. My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out. The screen showed a new text message. The sender was a number I hadn't saved. I opened it.
The sea will be choppy today. Be careful.
The timestamp was precise to the second. My lashes shifted.
I stared at the line for two seconds, then turned the phone over and placed it face down on the nightstand. The screen faced down.
— From now on, let me see — who exactly are the targets.
Dianzi pushed herself up from the bed.
I stood up, smoothing my skirt. The deep wine-red crossbody bag swayed at my hip, the gold clasp making faint clicking sounds.
I took one last look at the window. Light poured in, flooding the room with brightness. Seagulls flew over the sea, their wings edged with gold in the morning light.
The door closed behind us.