In a dim apartment tucked inside Blüdhaven’s quieter streets, the alarm clock rang right on schedule.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEH4zMMMq1S
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.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzZXi57EOgC
— 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.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxxImbLBcGJ
— 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.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXrRl5SrgUw
— The sky felt like her: still hitting snooze, refusing to fully rise.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaPVpMjDLDY
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.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2u2i7pFAoO
It used to be a secondhand store, left behind by her late aunt. Claire had turned it into something warm, something caffeinated.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡT5nyKSrbjX
— 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.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvqasgn6oTc
Which meant she could afford to stay open until 7 p.m., unlike most shops that shut down by three.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡa501vqSKEW
— Cops might be sarcastic as hell, but at least they order fast.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡO2GjaC9G1t
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.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSVWHfMKUcT
She shoved most of it upstairs into the second-floor room.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡo6c3RPpxf0
— 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.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCeIWAnYEix
— 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.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwOPZvrs8jO
The work rush would start soon.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXzfWj2RDyB
— Dough was gentle. Predictable. You give it time, temperature, attention—it behaves.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeYugEFhNKA
People, not so much.
Claire felt oddly good that morning. Like maybe there’d be a steady stream of customers.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmPDXFIu3ll
— 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.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6omCvAMjTj
She picked it up, glanced at the cover.
Nightwing.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDZKF4xPh7M
Leaping mid-air, grinning like he knew the whole city was watching.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡK1o1WN9aQu
Baton in hand. Camera focused squarely on his backside.
Claire…
— Rolled her eyes.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡh7C9FpCxHw
Did photographers forget faces existed? Or were asses genuinely more marketable now?
She tossed the paper onto the counter for whoever wanted it.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7tKtRn6xwI
— 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.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdeLBdAEe4u
— 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.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsFhFEsCTfD
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.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsrT5Gc5g86
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.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeGa7K98CRS
She frowned. Was it some jazz week promotion? A record label paying the station to loop the same song?
— No. This was lazy.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRbuUcHuCAN
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.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHtq7BZM89v
Same as always.
She glanced out the window. The sky looked about right for the season—late dawn, pale at the edges.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFHs6rSKi7f
Nothing too weird. Not yet.
She stepped into the kitchen and pulled out the dough.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrTy1zfynYp
But stopped.
— That’s not right.
She remembered preparing chocolate dough last night. She wanted to make something sweet for Easter.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFcl52dJbbP
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?192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxX6LVBS8D1
Claire shrugged it off and started baking anyway.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZfcPXJywaJ
— People get tired. Thoughts blur. Maybe she never made the chocolate batch at all.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZ65snYyUyH
No point snapping at herself. Bagels don’t care.
The paper arrived.
She picked it up. Froze.
— That photo. That angle.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIe06Wa4cqy
That...ass.
She’d seen that picture.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxmPp8uXnre
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:192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGmvs995WPl
“Do photographers even remember to shoot faces?”
It floated up again, uninvited.
She flipped the paper to check the date.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5RdPMV94Dc
April 21st.
She looked toward the door, maybe to call after the delivery guy, but no one was there.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGsyzmv1RZz
Too late.
Still frowning, she set the paper on the counter and walked back toward the register.
The bell jingled. First customer.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3AEcu8oWkt
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.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6jxNd4CNOK
Maybe it was just a fluke.
She cleared her throat.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNphjoNf70r
“Kyle…what’s today’s date?”
Kyle blinked, then gave a little laugh. “April 21st, Claire. Easter Sunday.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡycdMSlkGa9
And hey—Happy Easter!”
Claire’s eyes widened.
— April 21st.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡU0QwNUTh45
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.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡygwFv8V2Oi
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.192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1O6Mpk5cvt
But she couldn’t hear him anymore.
Her mind had narrowed into one small, steady sentence:
— What the hell is going on?
192Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡw9QiMSj043
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