We finally found the dormitory after declining a driver's offer to take us the remaining distance.
"It's only twenty minutes on foot," he had said, pointing behind the Liaison building. "Second street over."
He offered to carry our luggage.
Heiwa declined politely.
"We would like to see a bit of the city," she said.
Which meant: we need time to think.
The sun was lowering from its zenith, light warming into late afternoon gold. The cobblestone streets were familiar in texture but not in rhythm. Every city walked differently. Hǎi'àn walked with maritime patience — steady, brined, unhurried but alert.
Rows of trees lined the road, their branches forming a canopy that filtered the light into fractured patterns across the pavement.
"Maybe we can buy something to eat after we settle in," Heiwa said from behind me.
"Let's," I replied. "I'm starving."
But hunger was not entirely physical.
After a short while, we saw it.
The dormitory did not demand attention like the Liaison building had. It simply stood where it had likely stood for decades — brick red, balanced, symmetrical.
"It's brick," I murmured.
The structure curved inward in a U-shape, enclosing a modest courtyard. It resembled a manor stripped of ornamentation — dignified without indulgence.
We stepped through the gates.
"It seems my room is in the left wing," Heiwa said, checking her paper.
I hurried to check mine.
"C-2-05."
"C-2-10," she replied.
I nearly tipped my bag turning toward her.
Down the same hall.
Close.
Close enough.
"Let's hurry," she said lightly. "You must be hungry."
I nodded.
We greeted a few residents as we climbed the stairs — quiet nods, curious glances. The building carried history in its silence. Polished wood banisters. Faintly worn stair edges. The smell of paper, soap, and something metallic beneath it all.
"When you're done settling in," Heiwa said, pausing outside my door, "we can check the kitchen in the B-wing."
She smiled before continuing down the hall.
Separate rooms.
Not ideal.
But not far.
We can visit each other, I told myself before knocking.
I opened the door.
A girl lay on one of the beds, facing the wall. Her tail wagged lazily, betraying wakefulness.
"Good evening," I said gently. "It seems we'll be roommates."
The room was modest. Two desks. Two wardrobes. Two narrow beds. A lockbox beneath each.
"It is safe," I thought, setting my bag down.
She turned slowly.
Brown and black ears peeked above her pillow. Black hair fell across her face, half concealing her expression.
"Good evening," she answered softly.
"I'm Victoria. Nice to meet you."
She sat up abruptly.
"I—I'm Etsuko."
Her ears flopped nervously.
It was unbearably adorable.
The fresh sheets at the foot of my bed smelled faintly of sunlight and starch. Clean. Impersonal. Institutional.
"A-Are you just moving in too?" she asked, clutching her pillow.
"Yes."
I began making my bed, smoothing each corner more carefully than necessary.
"And you?"
"Yesterday," she replied, sitting at the edge of her mattress.
She watched me arrange my uniform into the wardrobe as though observing a ritual.
"Are you from Húmāo Zhōu?" she asked suddenly.
I turned.
"No."
She froze slightly.
"I—it's just that Hǎi'àn is where the Concord building is in this region, so with Húmāo Zhōu and this province being the only ones nearby, I thought—"
She began to bow.
I moved too quickly.
"No, no. Please."
She straightened, mortified.
"It's alright," I said, softer.
I found myself sitting beside her instead.
"So you're from Hǎi'àn?"
"Yes. My mother, father… my siblings."
Something inside me went still.
The word siblings felt heavy.
"You're right," I admitted. "I'm from Húmāo Zhōu. I came with a friend."
Her light brown eyes lifted to mine — curious but careful.
"I heard about the war," she said quietly.
"It was a tragedy," I replied.
And then I shelved it.
Carefully. Deliberately.
"Were you scouted by the Concord?" I asked.
The word felt inaccurate. Scouted suggested choice.
She shook her head.
"No. I applied. My parents were former employees so… it was easier."
Her tail wagged again — hesitant pride.
"Oh."
Former employees.
Legacy.
So this place was not strange to everyone.
A knock interrupted us.
"Come in," I called, quickly straightening.
Heiwa entered.
And behind her—
Someone with the same brown eyes as Etsuko, but none of the softness.
She carried herself like someone accustomed to corridors like these.
"Are you ready?" Heiwa asked.
I nodded.
"So your friend is my little sister's roommate," the newcomer said smoothly.
She wore a black yukata patterned with red florals — understated but deliberate.
"Good evening. I'm Min. Etsuko's elder sister."
She offered her hand.
"Victoria."
Her grip was firm.
Measured.
Heiwa was quietly surveying the room — noting exits, distances, small details. Of course she was.
"Let's go prepare supper," Min said gently.
Etsuko scrambled to change.
I watched the sisters for a moment.
Same eyes.
Different weight behind them.
After a short while, the four of us descended to the B-wing.
The ground floor opened into a shared kitchen and refectory — long wooden tables, open shelving, a large iron stove already in use by a few residents. Steam rose from pots. Someone laughed softly at the far end.
It felt communal.
Almost normal.
And yet—
The Concord building stood only a street away.
The dormitory was quiet.
The forms we signed still felt warm in my mind.
I stood there for a moment longer than necessary.
Listening.
To the hum of conversation.
To the scrape of cutlery.
To the low rhythm of my own thoughts.
Hitorigoto.
A private whisper inside a structure that had already claimed my name.
This is fine.
This is manageable.
This is better than prison.
I tied my sleeves back.
And stepped forward to help prepare supper.