I woke up at five-twenty with Sera's feet in my face.
She had fallen asleep on the other end of my couch — both of us apparently making the quiet decision sometime after the terrible tea that moving to actual beds was too much effort — and she slept the way she'd always slept since we were children: diagonally, aggressively, like she had a personal vendetta against shared sleeping surfaces.
I extracted myself without waking her.
Made coffee.
Stood at my kitchen window and watched Kaelthorn do its early morning thing — the grey light coming up over the glass towers, the first trams moving, the city remembering it was a city.
The criminal complaint was filed.
The recording was authenticated.
My sister was asleep on my couch.
And somewhere on the floor below me, separated by approxima
