In a dim apartment tucked inside Blüdhaven’s quieter streets, the alarm clock rang right on schedule.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDARyPsureE
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.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9O8lknbYBs
— 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.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9UClNFafDW
— 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.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcViiqkPeHl
— The sky felt like her: still hitting snooze, refusing to fully rise.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ34J7XlIV7h
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.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRQ4uVrSKy7
It used to be a secondhand store, left behind by her late aunt. Claire had turned it into something warm, something caffeinated.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjzhRq5voJa
— 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.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDvpUpvFynl
Which meant she could afford to stay open until 7 p.m., unlike most shops that shut down by three.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEcrnOs9ziD
— Cops might be sarcastic as hell, but at least they order fast.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡu2CWd4NfKH
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.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxmWjgA2TWm
She shoved most of it upstairs into the second-floor room.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2NItQSow1Q
— 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.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkt59G9LSB0
— 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.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8SrdLd7Evy
The work rush would start soon.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFmYZ2nFYFe
— Dough was gentle. Predictable. You give it time, temperature, attention—it behaves.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmfXIsma1e7
People, not so much.
Claire felt oddly good that morning. Like maybe there’d be a steady stream of customers.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡw9ASlhdVgo
— 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.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6PxDGMTbcJ
She picked it up, glanced at the cover.
Nightwing.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAvDRa1Ly1C
Leaping mid-air, grinning like he knew the whole city was watching.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmJllqaCEUN
Baton in hand. Camera focused squarely on his backside.
Claire…
— Rolled her eyes.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGc5vtTDD66
Did photographers forget faces existed? Or were asses genuinely more marketable now?
She tossed the paper onto the counter for whoever wanted it.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfFkQ1APpYh
— 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.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡF5Z04k8CtE
— 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.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡE0YstAZmtd
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.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡn5Vu1nMrdW
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.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYvE6NRpbVv
She frowned. Was it some jazz week promotion? A record label paying the station to loop the same song?
— No. This was lazy.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9ycvBFpGhD
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.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ40hmQH4LDT
Same as always.
She glanced out the window. The sky looked about right for the season—late dawn, pale at the edges.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqI76YWJ02P
Nothing too weird. Not yet.
She stepped into the kitchen and pulled out the dough.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcdpn7fcpsT
But stopped.
— That’s not right.
She remembered preparing chocolate dough last night. She wanted to make something sweet for Easter.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZtoqmjsiKF
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?564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzKmM0tv3mT
Claire shrugged it off and started baking anyway.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIhOc8x4emG
— People get tired. Thoughts blur. Maybe she never made the chocolate batch at all.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYu1NbeybnG
No point snapping at herself. Bagels don’t care.
The paper arrived.
She picked it up. Froze.
— That photo. That angle.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9wK2tMZmOo
That...ass.
She’d seen that picture.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBdGP7zIXCR
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:564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOsRs4Hte5S
“Do photographers even remember to shoot faces?”
It floated up again, uninvited.
She flipped the paper to check the date.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjqpq0dbVWW
April 21st.
She looked toward the door, maybe to call after the delivery guy, but no one was there.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDzTQ7UqcIb
Too late.
Still frowning, she set the paper on the counter and walked back toward the register.
The bell jingled. First customer.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxpBSQfs9cf
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.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPKJ99ObnOo
Maybe it was just a fluke.
She cleared her throat.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNKVBSHyKze
“Kyle…what’s today’s date?”
Kyle blinked, then gave a little laugh. “April 21st, Claire. Easter Sunday.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQ4e3tFmH9v
And hey—Happy Easter!”
Claire’s eyes widened.
— April 21st.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8HfReLEleH
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.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNEdy4IGlgM
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.564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfcNItdbLlP
But she couldn’t hear him anymore.
Her mind had narrowed into one small, steady sentence:
— What the hell is going on?
564Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhhPMyyZuHz
and then Add to home screen.