The first rays of morning sunlight had not yet fully pierced through the dusty skylight of the attic, but the loud roar of the neighbor's toilet flushing downstairs and the shrill sound of sirens outside the window had already sounded as punctually as an alarm clock.
This is Queens, not a private island in the Maldives. There are no sounds of crashing waves here in the morning, only the clamor of daily life.
Alice suddenly opened her eyes on that hard camp bed.
Her eyes were clear, without a trace of sleepiness.
The attic space was narrow and cramped; after being sealed all night, the air was as stifling as a steamer.
But Alice didn't even frown.
She quickly rolled out of bed, her movements crisp and efficient, without a hint of hesitation.
The quilt was folded neatly, with the edges pulled straight as if measured with a ruler.
This was muscle memory inherited from the super-soldier body of Mikasa Ackerman, and also an iron rule she developed during her one month of hellish survival on Skull Island.
No matter where you are, maintaining order and vigilance is the first step to survival.
"If I didn't become a wealthy second-generation heir, I could probably be a model soldier for tidiness if I joined the army."
Alice smiled self-deprecatingly, opened the attic door, and walked down the creaking stairs.
The living room was quiet.
It wasn't until she finished washing up and came out of the bathroom that there was a soft click from the door lock.
Aunt Sarah had returned.
She dragged her heavy feet into the room, her complexion sallow, her eye sockets sunken, and heavy dark circles hanging on her face.
She looked like a sugarcane that had been squeezed dry, exuding a deep sense of exhaustion and irritability.
Seeing Alice already dressed and standing in the living room, Aunt Sarah froze for a moment.
She had originally prepared a bellyful of mean words for waking her up and scolding the sluggard, but now she had to swallow them back.
"You're up quite early."
Aunt Sarah muttered, threw the cheap coffee she was carrying onto the table, and then, after counting for a long time from her worn-out wallet, reluctantly pulled out two crumpled 20-dollar bills.
"Snap."
She slapped the money hard on the table, as if it weren't paper money, but something weighing a thousand pounds.
"Take it, this is today's food money."
Aunt Sarah's voice was hoarse, carrying the irritation of having stayed up all night.
"Spend it sparingly, and don't go buying useless snacks and cosmetics. This isn't Manhattan; these 40 dollars have to cover dinner for both of us for at least three days."
As she spoke, remembering something, she raised her hand and pointed to the pile of dirty clothes heaped like a small mountain at the bathroom door.
"Wash that pile of clothes. The washing machine broke last week, and it costs over a hundred dollars to fix it. I don't have the money to repair it, so wash them by hand. Don't think about slacking off; I'll check when I wake up."
Those were the clothes that Aunt Sarah and Alice had changed out of, including several stained Nurse uniforms.
For a young lady who once never lifted a finger, this was simply deliberate harassment.
But Alice just calmly glanced at the pile of clothes, then looked at the money on the table.
She didn't show any disgust, nor did she complain a word about why the washing machine wasn't repaired.
"Alright, Aunt Sarah, I will take care of it."
Alice walked over, picked up the two bills that still held body heat, and put them into her pocket.
Then, she turned and walked to the kitchen, pouring a glass of warm water.
"Drink some water, your lips are a bit dry."
She handed the cup to Aunt Sarah, her movements as natural as if she were the original owner of this house.
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