Hedi watched Selina’s face steeped in sleep, and tenderness unfurled inside her like a spring thaw spreading across a silent lake.

She lifted her hand slowly and laid it on Selina’s warm cheek, a bridge from dream into daylight; her fingers brushed her eyelids with feather-soft care, as if calling the eyes hidden behind the curtain; the haze peeled like a thin mist, and clarity bloomed bright as dew.

“Hedi Melvina.” Her voice rose like a thread pulled from sleep.

“Why the full name all of a sudden?” Hedi’s question fell light, like a leaf landing.

“Hedi.” The sound was a small bell in fog.

“What is it?” Her words came soft, a palm over ripples.

“Professor!” The cry burst like a startled bird.

Hedi wrapped Selina in her arms, a quilt around a child jolted from nightmare, her hand patting in a steady rhythm like rain on a roof; then she pressed her warm lips to Selina’s flushed, delicate earlobe, and sent a firm promise on gentle breath, a tiny whirlwind slipping into her ear: “I’m here. I’ve always been here.”

Selina’s nose stung like a pricked rose; her body shuddered, and a low cry rolled from her chest like a valley echo returning a call.

Wenni snorted, a dull drum of annoyance. “You still know how to cry. If you’d been greedy for a bit more sleep,” her face looked rain-worn, heavy with fatigue and gloom, “your Professor would beat me up and toss me into a reeking gutter!”

Selina wiped her tears, confusion flickering like moth-wings, and stared at Hedi; Hedi shook her head, calm as a pond, and said, “It’s fine.”

“It’s fine, my ass—” Wenni leaned on the wall, her body shaking like sifted grain, and cursed, “Waking me every seven hours on the dot with a mouthful of threats! I told you there’d be drift, you clung to seven hours like a barnacle. Makes me so mad I wanna stuff you under a blanket and smother you for a while!”

“Did I sleep long?” Selina looked to the sky outside; the air felt damp, pearls of rain lingering on the breeze. “It’s already the next day.”

“Eleven hours, forty-two minutes, thirty-six seconds.” Wenni’s answer snapped like a ruler on a desk.

“How do you know?” Selina’s question fluttered like a timid sparrow.

“How do I know?” Wenni stomped, three sharp thuds like hail on stone. “Why do you think I know? You think I stood here half the day because of who?”

“Th-thanks...” Her voice trembled like a thread in wind.

“Thanks— even your thanks is mush.” Wenni clicked her tongue, a pebble in a tin. “Useless human!”

“Sorry for the trouble.” The apology fell light, like ash.

“Trouble— that’s some gross polite muck!” Wenni’s disgust wrinkled like a stormed lake.

Hedi turned and shot Wenni a glare, a blade of cold light. “It’s been this long, and you still have wake-up grump?”

“Guess why?” Wenni lifted a finger and traced circles in the air, rings rippling like pond waves. “Human Professors are supposed to be smart.”

“The money—” Hedi’s tone dipped, cautious as a step on ice.

“Not that!” Wenni snapped, a matchhead flare.

“I’m really sorry, Wenni,” Hedi said, voice even as shade under trees. “I didn’t realize my impulse dumped so much displeasure and pressure on you. You warned me there’d be timing drift. I should’ve been patient, not make you carry this— feel better?”

“If you didn’t ask, I’d feel great.” Wenni’s mouth twisted like a knotweed; she turned and headed upstairs, footsteps hollow as a drum. “Don’t forget the money. Find a time and bring it to me!”

Hedi crouched and helped Selina into her shoes, hands gentle as warm silk, then led her out of the witch’s shop, a lantern leaving a shadowed threshold.

“Did you find who spoke to your sister?” Hedi asked once they’d walked a stretch, her words steady as a road. “And her motive.”

Selina answered the first, her voice a soft ribbon. “The vice dean. It seems tied to an experiment on psychic power.”

“Psychic power?” Hedi’s brow lifted like a tilted wing.

“Mm. My sister’s a medium, very strong at it.” Selina’s pride glinted faintly, a star behind thin clouds.

“Sounds like she signed up willingly,” Hedi said, a line set like a keel.

“Because of me.” Selina’s confession fell heavy, like rain filling a basin. “She told me if she didn’t go, I would. My psychic power is strong too.”

“Why not run?” Hedi’s question was a wind tapping shutters.

“Changing places means the same fate,” Selina murmured, faith taut as a red string. “Her divination never misses.”

“So she knew her ending by divination?” Hedi’s voice cooled, a blade in a sheath.

On that note, Hedi’s brow furrowed, storm-shadow gathering, and she cut off a hawker’s pitch with a flick like a gust.

The hawker held his wares out, spittle flying like rain, praising each item’s miracles and bargains; to Hedi it was only grit in the gears, noise scuffing thought.

She took Selina’s hand and quickened toward the exit of Old Paulownia Street, their steps like twin swallows; she muttered, “Interesting— knowing the ending by divination.”

“You don’t believe in it?” Selina’s question floated, a leaf in a current.

“When I’m kneeling and whispering to gods,” Hedi said with a faint curl of lip, mockery like frost, “I barely believe.”

“You’re a nun— how?” Selina’s shock flared, a candle in wind.

“Who told you that?” Hedi’s interruption cut clean, a snap of twig.

“I grew up in the Sacred Cathedral—” Selina’s words offered roots, thin as threads.

Hedi’s mouth arced with faint sarcasm, a crescent blade, and she cut in: “I don’t have a shred of piety for any so-called god. Even when I pray, it’s just a show for others. The holy canon’s dense rules— think it through, aren’t they stitched together to suit the writer’s taste? ‘Break the rules and you’ll be punished’— do they want people bowing to God, or to the rule-maker?”

“Don’t say that!” Selina’s panic flew up and she covered Hedi’s mouth, hands shaking like reeds. “I don’t want to see your head posted on a scaffold!”

“Sorry. I went too far.” Hedi’s apology sat low, a stone in water.

“Talk like that gets you killed as a witch by the faithful!” Selina’s fear clung like mist. “Who else knows?”

“No one.” Hedi’s reply was a sealed jar.

Worry thinned on Selina’s face and drifted back like a receding tide, then pooled, subtle, at her drooping mouth corners. “I didn’t expect you to see the Sacred Cathedral that way. I... I’m a believer.”

“Ah... this... uh...” Hedi’s tongue fumbled, a fish slipping the net.

“But it’s okay.” Selina smoothed it with a sigh, a hand over ripples. “Since it’s your first offense, I’ll reluctantly forgive you.”

“I won’t bring this up in front of you again.” Hedi’s promise clicked shut, a clasp.

“No one may,” Selina said, eyes firm as polished stone. “I’m not joking.”

Hedi nodded, solemn as a bell at dusk, and shifted course. “We know your sister’s motive and who she spoke to. Next, we head to the Shattered City and get the final answer.”

“I don’t remember much of the talk,” Selina admitted, memory a fogged window.

“The rest, we’ll face Stratford in person,” Hedi said, resolve straight as an arrow.

“Hope we don’t fight.” Selina’s wish blew soft, a dandelion puff.

“We will,” Hedi answered without pause, her certainty a hammer on iron. “Whatever the reason, whatever the goal, Stratford must have ties she can’t cut loose.”

“To save someone?” Selina’s question hung, a lantern over a road.

Hedi looked at Selina, waiting as quiet as snow, and Selina went on: “It feels like, doing all this isn’t about carving her name in academia. And she hid it from her partner to go to the Shattered City and grab my sister— it feels cornered.”

“Maybe,” Hedi said, a hand on the tiller. “But I’m just a variable she didn’t expect. In her plan, studying Olivia was the right path.”

“My sister also mentioned you,” Selina added, a stitch pulling tight. “She kept asking your name.”

“Based on her divination, to push us into contact?” Hedi’s tone was a low current.

“That’s what I think.” Selina’s answer settled like sand.

Hedi said nothing either way, climbed into the carriage, and called the driver toward the station, her voice the crack of a whip; then she laid her head on Selina’s shoulder and watched the scenery stream past like a river of color.

“From Old Paulownia Street to the station, we buy two express tickets to the Shattered City,” Hedi calculated, numbers ticking like cicadas. “Dusk, again.”