In a dim apartment tucked inside Blüdhaven’s quieter streets, the alarm clock rang right on schedule.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyKQvvVBkfI
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.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡp3iLfZXpWp
— 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.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡG7Fl1SXXLq
— 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.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqzbgCeVuXY
— The sky felt like her: still hitting snooze, refusing to fully rise.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaNnT8bqYx5
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.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfbnSdpyXYv
It used to be a secondhand store, left behind by her late aunt. Claire had turned it into something warm, something caffeinated.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡs72QN2y4GI
— 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.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNkS5U3lEz8
Which meant she could afford to stay open until 7 p.m., unlike most shops that shut down by three.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyZez5OK96U
— Cops might be sarcastic as hell, but at least they order fast.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfDNS8UsFk1
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.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡerLxTs6asY
She shoved most of it upstairs into the second-floor room.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlJMmY1M7ei
— 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.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaGDwAvgQqW
— 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.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡq6MarSSV30
The work rush would start soon.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhWxtueTceU
— Dough was gentle. Predictable. You give it time, temperature, attention—it behaves.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDRhW33YlWI
People, not so much.
Claire felt oddly good that morning. Like maybe there’d be a steady stream of customers.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡa7x5VFAqyR
— 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.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUrD08vC1cf
She picked it up, glanced at the cover.
Nightwing.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgyBOnoHjcs
Leaping mid-air, grinning like he knew the whole city was watching.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpw5gX3RlxO
Baton in hand. Camera focused squarely on his backside.
Claire…
— Rolled her eyes.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmkrQBXag2W
Did photographers forget faces existed? Or were asses genuinely more marketable now?
She tossed the paper onto the counter for whoever wanted it.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYfR1dpYcOa
— 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.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtlHG5XYbga
— 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.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsVHCKvSCon
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.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiTArmsNfmi
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.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVPX6iRaVnj
She frowned. Was it some jazz week promotion? A record label paying the station to loop the same song?
— No. This was lazy.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjFhsFKxJAF
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.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgHHBRPLsz6
Same as always.
She glanced out the window. The sky looked about right for the season—late dawn, pale at the edges.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoZA7geyT3F
Nothing too weird. Not yet.
She stepped into the kitchen and pulled out the dough.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzV8hdWNcqZ
But stopped.
— That’s not right.
She remembered preparing chocolate dough last night. She wanted to make something sweet for Easter.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDLC0c5xz8N
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?512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGblm4B4MUm
Claire shrugged it off and started baking anyway.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDoZIi4I9iH
— People get tired. Thoughts blur. Maybe she never made the chocolate batch at all.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsddknw1QiE
No point snapping at herself. Bagels don’t care.
The paper arrived.
She picked it up. Froze.
— That photo. That angle.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsdVOJIaCCp
That...ass.
She’d seen that picture.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDPwQihnw6h
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:512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFFBG2sBa5R
“Do photographers even remember to shoot faces?”
It floated up again, uninvited.
She flipped the paper to check the date.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjrkQQUVylZ
April 21st.
She looked toward the door, maybe to call after the delivery guy, but no one was there.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoK0ZegNCHv
Too late.
Still frowning, she set the paper on the counter and walked back toward the register.
The bell jingled. First customer.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJzYD85JOjq
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.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNShX9sHJ0S
Maybe it was just a fluke.
She cleared her throat.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvoVP1XGMix
“Kyle…what’s today’s date?”
Kyle blinked, then gave a little laugh. “April 21st, Claire. Easter Sunday.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ96fwfOmF7G
And hey—Happy Easter!”
Claire’s eyes widened.
— April 21st.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3mPyw6V7hH
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.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡM2dB8loXjX
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.512Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ62bBnuwTjb
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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and then Add to home screen.