She came on a Saturday, six weeks out.
Not for a specific reason — or rather, the reason was the specific one she gave when Nara asked: *I want to be nearby. Is that all right?*
Yes, Nara had texted back. Obviously yes.
She arrived at Floor Five with her bag and the specific quality she'd arrived with since the luggage shift — settled, present, not managing the fact of being there. She put her bag in the corner where it lived now. She looked at the photograph on the window ledge — the three Voss siblings on the bench, before everything — and then at the city beyond it.
"Both sides still there," she said.
"Always," Nara said.
"Good," Serin said. The Serin economy of expression that had become familiar. *Good* containing: I'm glad you have this, I'm glad I can see it, I'm glad I'm here
