In a dim apartment tucked inside Blüdhaven’s quieter streets, the alarm clock rang right on schedule.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5T8WJEkjzY
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.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRpu77B4YEp
— 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.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡU2dDaRgasa
— 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.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡD1utTW7GbN
— The sky felt like her: still hitting snooze, refusing to fully rise.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6wyqOmRu6M
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.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoY0vETnMFm
It used to be a secondhand store, left behind by her late aunt. Claire had turned it into something warm, something caffeinated.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYZcYV3a9nF
— 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.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcaSCRoiIKK
Which meant she could afford to stay open until 7 p.m., unlike most shops that shut down by three.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGHrXAfg4t3
— Cops might be sarcastic as hell, but at least they order fast.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2wuzW5zjWR
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.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡW51gF0yZWX
She shoved most of it upstairs into the second-floor room.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0y8CzOMgV0
— 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.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhRFdTWdCWD
— 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.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEebviPfcvg
The work rush would start soon.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡygHdDIlMmR
— Dough was gentle. Predictable. You give it time, temperature, attention—it behaves.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMa7YWscHfv
People, not so much.
Claire felt oddly good that morning. Like maybe there’d be a steady stream of customers.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUKqtSJrPzd
— 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.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBeCHx10Clr
She picked it up, glanced at the cover.
Nightwing.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9Z9kVOYhzB
Leaping mid-air, grinning like he knew the whole city was watching.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgvms7Ovf1A
Baton in hand. Camera focused squarely on his backside.
Claire…
— Rolled her eyes.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1wN6aLI8dO
Did photographers forget faces existed? Or were asses genuinely more marketable now?
She tossed the paper onto the counter for whoever wanted it.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDHjV49qTp4
— 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.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUPFDABnulS
— 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.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwHRzrYWJB5
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.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡE7rWfk35H3
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.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ918jKoPo0E
She frowned. Was it some jazz week promotion? A record label paying the station to loop the same song?
— No. This was lazy.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjCQIihPjoM
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.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvNbbkQkWhD
Same as always.
She glanced out the window. The sky looked about right for the season—late dawn, pale at the edges.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5ZcrAGxGca
Nothing too weird. Not yet.
She stepped into the kitchen and pulled out the dough.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7Rhiv5vDvJ
But stopped.
— That’s not right.
She remembered preparing chocolate dough last night. She wanted to make something sweet for Easter.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡr1wktwECXN
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?114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2CbeM8aJvi
Claire shrugged it off and started baking anyway.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsE5ecosP9r
— People get tired. Thoughts blur. Maybe she never made the chocolate batch at all.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBcg1rr2Khy
No point snapping at herself. Bagels don’t care.
The paper arrived.
She picked it up. Froze.
— That photo. That angle.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTooMLds8HE
That...ass.
She’d seen that picture.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡX4pEY6Qdhn
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:114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbDtASXRp0R
“Do photographers even remember to shoot faces?”
It floated up again, uninvited.
She flipped the paper to check the date.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWBFN32gBZ5
April 21st.
She looked toward the door, maybe to call after the delivery guy, but no one was there.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8bXtuE2RQf
Too late.
Still frowning, she set the paper on the counter and walked back toward the register.
The bell jingled. First customer.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyQVlghZMva
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.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLxilavKUV7
Maybe it was just a fluke.
She cleared her throat.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPPex4Gh9Jo
“Kyle…what’s today’s date?”
Kyle blinked, then gave a little laugh. “April 21st, Claire. Easter Sunday.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSzXNnN6PlU
And hey—Happy Easter!”
Claire’s eyes widened.
— April 21st.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwvsTp9adZh
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.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlzovOXZghd
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.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgCAWLpzdN0
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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