Where has our hero been all this time? Surely, he must have been out there, making bold decisions, taking his life into his own hands, forging ahead with unwavering resolve.

  No.

  He was in bed. Sinking, festering, rotting in his own misery like the useless waste of life he was.

  Caruncle had already missed two csses and wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore. He y there, staring at the ceiling, trying to process everything. The conversation at the university. The phonograph. The slow, creeping realization that time here was wrong. Off by just a little, just enough to gnaw at the back of his mind.

  The telephone existed. The motion picture camera. The modern bicycle. But no light bulbs. No automobiles. 364-day years, with 13 months and an extra "year day" that somehow still accounted for leap years. It was all close—too close. Like the world was an imitation of what he knew, but not quite.

  And if history could echo itself like this, what about the worst parts? What about the things he had read about? What about the things he knew were coming?

  His breath was unsteady. He sat up, gripping his temples. His thoughts kept spiraling back to that night, to the words that had left him exposed, raw, vulnerable—and completely alone. No one had supported him. No one even tried. And worst of all, he knew that was going to happen, and he let it happen anyway.

  Fine. If they wouldn’t help him, he would help himself. He wasn’t going to sit around and wait for the sky to fall on top of him.

  I sighed. Here we go again. Go ahead, Caruncle, tell us—what’s the brilliant pn this time? Are you finally going to do something meaningful? Are you going to take responsibility, stand your ground, and fight for what you want?

  No.

  You’re going to run.

  Coward.

  Caruncle stepped out of his bedroom, properly dressed in his polished bck loafers, a dimly-colored suit, and an old tie. If you looked at him now, you might mistake him for a chauffeur.

  His mother sat on the sofa, knitting. Her hands were delicate, moving carefully as if every motion had to be measured, rationed. She was wrapped in an old, comfy sweater, and for a moment, Caruncle thought about asking her to make one for him too.

  “How are you feeling, Caruncle?” she asked, not looking up.

  “I think I’m just a bit under the weather.” His voice was quiet, distant.

  “I saw a beautiful flower arrangement the other day,” she said, still knitting.

  “What kind?”

  “Orchids. Light purple, almost glowing. I thought about asking your father to bring me some.”

  He turned to the window, watching the heavy gray clouds settle over the city.

  “Your father doesn’t think I should be tending the garden myself. Says it’ll hurt my back. But I think I’m finally convincing him. If it’s just a small one, I think I can manage.”

  Caruncle exhaled softly. “That sounds nice.”

  For a long moment, he just stood there, his thoughts drifting outside. A part of him almost hoped to see something there—something to shake him awake.

  But there was nothing.

  “You look beautiful today, Mom,” he said, finally looking at her again.

  She smiled, her wrinkles deepening. “Thank you, dear. But you look worried.”

  She finally met his eyes.

  “Is there something you’d like to talk about?”

  “Oh, you know, just struggling with this week’s topics,” Caruncle muttered.

  “Really? That professor you mentioned—is he giving you trouble?” his mother asked, her knitting needles clicking softly.

  “No, not really. I just… I still feel lost with all the material.”

  “Oh, please. You’ll do just fine.”

  “Really?” He gnced back at the window. Talking to his mother was always difficult. Every time he gave an empty answer, a sharp pang of guilt ran through his chest.

  “Yes, I’ve always thought you were a very smart boy.”

  He looked at her then.

  “Truth is… if I’m being honest, I don’t know if I can finish this. What I started, I mean. I don’t think—”

  “Yes, you will,” she interrupted, her voice steady.

  “But you know I always struggle to focus, and I— I don’t know, I just can’t keep up. I can’t, I—”

  “Caruncle.” She finally looked up from her knitting. “You may ck strength—I struggle with that myself—but you will not fail because of a ck of wits. Take a breath, and push forward.”

  He lowered his head, staring at the wooden floor with a strange sense of embarrassment. “...Okay.”

  “It’s nothing, dear.” She returned to her knitting. “As I always say—I know and love my children, no matter what.”

  Caruncle took in the warmth of the room. The wooden walls, the aged floorboards, the air inside—stagnant, but comforting. A sharp contrast to the cold waiting for him outside.

  “I should get going.”

  “God bless you, dear.”

  His mother kept knitting, occasionally gncing out the window.

  Caruncle stood, adjusting his coat and picking up his bag. The floor creaked under his steps, a melody to me, but to him, it was a groaning, screeching thing that made him feel like the whole house was going to colpse beneath him. His father had promised renovations next year, but Caruncle knew that was a lie.

  Stepping outside, he spotted a carriage waiting across the street. His hands trembled as he climbed inside. He checked the bag beside him, feeling the weight of his possessions—his escape pn, packed neatly away.

  I sat beside him, smirking. It always fascinated me, how I could sit in these moments, as if I were flesh and blood. I had a theory once—something I called ghostly magnetism, the idea that celestial beings like myself were somehow anchored to the movements of the world we haunted. But with no one to discuss it with, and nowhere to write it down, I lost interest.

  Instead, I watched Caruncle.

  He stopped near a restaurant, eyeing the back entrance from a narrow alleyway.

  According to a book he had read in Pisces' library, this pce was a perfect target. He remembered the details well—next year, an employee would use a backup key hidden under a trash can to sneak in and rob the safe. His coworker, oblivious, would be smoking by the front door just before opening.

  All Caruncle had to do was steal the money first. No one would even suspect him. It was easy. It was perfect.

  So why wasn’t he moving?

  I waited. And waited.

  His heartbeat was already hammering at his ribs. Cold sweat dripped down his neck. His hands clenched, his legs locked in pce. I could feel the nausea twisting in his gut.

  Oh, Caruncle. What is it this time? The perfect heist, all id out for you, and still—nothing.

  “Damn it!” he whispered harshly, punching his knee. He clenched his jaw, turned away, and signaled the carriage to move on.

  Fine. Maybe he had enough money. Maybe it wasn’t worth the risk. Maybe, if he ran out of money down the road, he’d figure something out.

  Coward.

  He arrived in the city’s center, stopping in front of a small, rusting house. The poorest part of town, filled with bustling markets during the day, was eerily quiet in the morning.

  Caruncle knocked.

  I felt something tight coil in my stomach. For once, this wasn’t funny.

  “Goddamn it, what are you about to do now, you idiot?”

  The door opened.

  “I knew you’d come.”

  A woman—slightly shorter than him—stood in the doorway. She wore a worn apron over a modest, checkered dress. Her jet-bck hair was tied into a long ponytail.

  She looked… cute.

  This was Li.

  Li was strong-willed, hardworking, and sharper than most people gave her credit for. Her family ran a market stall, selling fruits and vegetables grown on a small farm north of the city. She had a gift for haggling—convincing customers to buy more than they intended with the promise of a “slightly” reduced price.

  But she was tired. So tired.

  The idea of leaving this all behind—of escaping a life of lifting crates and hauling sacks of yucca—was appealing.

  Caruncle had met her by chance, wandering through the market in search of masato, a fermented drink one of his family’s servants liked. He asked for directions. She adopted him like a lost puppy.

  And for reasons even I couldn’t understand, she had spent the past few months trying to charm him.

  What she didn’t know was that today, Caruncle was going to ask her to run away with him.

  “Li. Were you working just now?” Caruncle asked.

  “My mother needed help. I didn’t want to make her suspicious.”

  “Well—o-okay, that’s fine.” He swallowed. “It’s going to be a long trip. Maybe you can rest on the way.”

  “Really?”

  “It depends on the road. Now come on, before anyone else sees us.”

  “Okay.”

  They both climbed into the carriage. Caruncle sat stiffly on Li’s left, his hands clenched in his p. I slid onto her right, though neither of them noticed, of course.

  Now it was the three of us.

  Almost like a real family.