In a dim apartment tucked inside Blüdhaven’s quieter streets, the alarm clock rang right on schedule.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHxEMG8Qfjc
Jazz seeped from the radio—one of those mellow, slightly dusty tunes that sound like they’ve been playing since the 1950s.
Claire blinked herself awake. Her brown eyes were still cloudy with sleep, but her body was already moving, out of habit more than intent.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2di9uj2T0j
— Another morning, just as unremarkable as the last. Her limbs knew what to do. Her thoughts hadn’t caught up yet.
She got up slowly, pulled on her clothes, and watered the plant by the window.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡomovxAD1BI
— It looked like it had grown another inch. She always suspected it was secretly a cactus pretending to be something else.
By the time she reached the kitchen, the sky was barely awake—dark navy at the edges, with the faintest smear of light.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyZuT7gzV2J
— The sky felt like her: still hitting snooze, refusing to fully rise.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFQJtPCmgFk
Claire never liked the moment daylight really took over. It was too loud. Too confident.
She ran a café. Small, slightly crooked, hiding in a forgettable alley.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡD8Opx9TWaq
It used to be a secondhand store, left behind by her late aunt. Claire had turned it into something warm, something caffeinated.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2budfI2DBq
— Her aunt had... eccentric tastes. Claire never did figure out why she collected so many strange little things.
The only perk of the café’s location? It sat next to the Blüdhaven police precinct.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwxWKxSf0DI
Which meant she could afford to stay open until 7 p.m., unlike most shops that shut down by three.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3ZuBSYwqFo
— Cops might be sarcastic as hell, but at least they order fast.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfTuf3vJTIF
Way better than the afternoon crowd asking if she carried decaf-organic-soy-lattes while holding a shivering chihuahua.
When Claire took over the place, she didn’t know what to do with all the oddities left behind—prosthetic hands, glass eyeballs, and a music box that felt vaguely cursed.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzc4UAVwKZQ
She shoved most of it upstairs into the second-floor room.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXPqi5oWz1s
— She never opened the music box. It always felt like it was waiting for her to mess something up.
She only used the first and third floors anyway.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzTMiE1cW03
— Life had enough things she couldn’t control. As long as the building didn’t collapse, she wasn’t going to micromanage its haunted corners.
In the back kitchen, she pulled out yesterday’s dough and started shaping bagels.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7tfnCbxYSX
The work rush would start soon.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnugSslskZC
— Dough was gentle. Predictable. You give it time, temperature, attention—it behaves.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ84BOBQdAaV
People, not so much.
Claire felt oddly good that morning. Like maybe there’d be a steady stream of customers.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTa6TIy9AgZ
— She was probably wrong. But a little self-deception before sunrise was better than starting the day already defeated.
She’d just finished lining up the bagels when the newspaper landed outside with a thud.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYmhnQZ2TDJ
She picked it up, glanced at the cover.
Nightwing.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3dDOlpfuh3
Leaping mid-air, grinning like he knew the whole city was watching.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡb8Q8TVBAp5
Baton in hand. Camera focused squarely on his backside.
Claire…
— Rolled her eyes.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡID7zWwo22U
Did photographers forget faces existed? Or were asses genuinely more marketable now?
She tossed the paper onto the counter for whoever wanted it.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7rQ6M0T78I
— Whatever. That ass might end up more popular than her bagels today.
The bell over the door rang. First customer of the day.
Claire smiled. A regular. Middle-aged cop, heading into work.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuw6XFB11SX
— Always ordered the same thing: two black coffees. One for himself. The other? Never said. Claire never asked.
And just like that, the day began.
—--------------------------
The alarm rang in the dim apartment.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXL6tUu7tYb
The jazz tune came on again—mellow, familiar, almost too familiar.
Claire opened her eyes, brown and heavy with sleep, and forced herself upright.
— She’d heard this before. Yesterday.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxW3Ndvy1P1
That saxophone bend into the chorus, the beat that tripped just slightly before the downbeat—she could hum along.
Jazz wasn’t Top 40. No one plays the same track two days in a row.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoFEw3l0m9a
She frowned. Was it some jazz week promotion? A record label paying the station to loop the same song?
— No. This was lazy.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHFLpudVGpD
No edit, no transition. It picked up at the exact same spot as yesterday.
Claire sat up slowly. Her eyes were still half-closed, but her nerves were beginning to itch. Just enough to notice.
She dressed. Watered the window plant. Went downstairs.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2ZZryxZQdT
Same as always.
She glanced out the window. The sky looked about right for the season—late dawn, pale at the edges.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ62bFDgUAr5
Nothing too weird. Not yet.
She stepped into the kitchen and pulled out the dough.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjHUvadRdhQ
But stopped.
— That’s not right.
She remembered preparing chocolate dough last night. She wanted to make something sweet for Easter.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡn3E4iyCRhv
Added a pinch of cinnamon, too—just enough to give it depth.
But the dough in front of her? It was plain. Just like yesterday.
Maybe… she misremembered?190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡk78HjUXhwG
Claire shrugged it off and started baking anyway.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRkrnujflD8
— People get tired. Thoughts blur. Maybe she never made the chocolate batch at all.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcFKioyG0EL
No point snapping at herself. Bagels don’t care.
The paper arrived.
She picked it up. Froze.
— That photo. That angle.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLyECidL09x
That...ass.
She’d seen that picture.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHnin6YKuRH
Nightwing in midair, beaming like a rogue gymnast, baton in hand—camera lovingly focused on his backside.
Her temple twitched.
This was yesterday’s newspaper.
She remembered the exact thought from the morning before:190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLqv4EJqq8J
“Do photographers even remember to shoot faces?”
It floated up again, uninvited.
She flipped the paper to check the date.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ360kOKPxMD
April 21st.
She looked toward the door, maybe to call after the delivery guy, but no one was there.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyIMvLIYxWZ
Too late.
Still frowning, she set the paper on the counter and walked back toward the register.
The bell jingled. First customer.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOZdS0lfx12
Same man as yesterday.
Claire greeted him with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Hey Kyle,” she said. “You seen today’s paper?”
“Oh yeah,” he grinned. “That Nightwing kid again, huh?”
He glanced down at the cover and chuckled.
Claire swallowed her complaint about the mistaken delivery.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡn5vXXTBKcw
Maybe it was just a fluke.
She cleared her throat.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfP9WLHQsfI
“Kyle…what’s today’s date?”
Kyle blinked, then gave a little laugh. “April 21st, Claire. Easter Sunday.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhXfW7RsaZq
And hey—Happy Easter!”
Claire’s eyes widened.
— April 21st.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4ebVO1edpu
She was sure that was yesterday.
She wasn’t the kind of person who forgot holidays. She’d even drawn a stupid bunny on a sticky note in the back kitchen.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1S6VPia2ij
It was still there, taped to the counter. A reminder to push hot chocolate sales.
Her chest tightened.
Kyle was still smiling, saying something cheerful.190Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmnXR80IagS
But she couldn’t hear him anymore.
Her mind had narrowed into one small, steady sentence:
— What the hell is going on?
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