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The first thing Mira asked on Tuesday was whether marigolds could drown.
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I was trying to fasten my academy collar with one hand and rescue toast with the other. Rain had returned overnight, and the flowers in the courtyard leaned over their planter as though listening to the ground.
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“Not from one rainy night,” I said. “But they don't like standing in water.”
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“Then we should help.”
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“We can ask Mr. Pell about drainage when we get home.”
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She watched me turn the toast over. “Will you remember?”
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I wrote MARIGOLDS on the back of a shopping receipt and put it beside the key.
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“Now I will.”
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Mira seemed satisfied. I wished every problem came with such an inexpensive solution.
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***
ㅤ
The exhibition committee's reply reached Evelyn and me after our morning lecture, before Lina’s trial lesson. Our proposal had been accepted for a provisional demonstration slot, subject to a safety rehearsal the following week. The committee wanted a clearer explanation of how we would prevent visitors from mistaking our results for a contest of raw magical strength.
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“That part was already in the proposal,” I said.
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Evelyn read the letter again. “They want it in language visitors will understand.”
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“Would ‘bigger isn't always better’ offend the faculty?”
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“Almost certainly.”
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“Then we're close.”
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She took out a pencil and underlined the committee's questions. We agreed to revise the display after my afternoon work, when she would have finished a meeting of her own. Before leaving, she hesitated beside the stairwell.
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“Is Mira still worried about the review?”
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“Less than before. She asked whether the office needed a drawing of our apartment.”
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“Did you say yes?”
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“I told her Bellamy already had the address.”
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“That's not the same thing.”
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“No,” I admitted. “It isn't.”
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Evelyn smiled, but there was something thoughtful in it. Then she went upstairs, and I went to collect another stack of first-year papers before Lina arrived.
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***
ㅤ
Lina arrived for her trial lesson with a neatly copied page of questions. Unlike Tomas, who wanted his barrier to survive movement, she could hold a stable shield while standing still but exhausted herself trying to make it stronger.
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“I know the formula,” she told me. “I just can't sustain the output.”
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“Show me the smallest barrier you can maintain.”
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She looked doubtful. “Smallest?”
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“Enough to stop a practice crystal. Nothing impressive.”
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Her first attempt was far too large. We reduced it until she could keep the shield up while answering questions about her calculations. By the end of the session, she was maintaining a modest barrier without draining herself.
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“I thought I needed more mana,” she said.
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“You might eventually. Today you needed to stop spending it on empty space.”
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She paid the five silver without bargaining and asked whether I had the same hour available next Tuesday.
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I checked my schedule before agreeing. When she left, I recorded the payment and the next appointment separately. One lesson wasn't a guarantee, but the next one was now scheduled.
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***
ㅤ
Halden found me putting away the practice crystals.
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“Lina says you made her spell smaller.”
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“She was maintaining a barrier large enough to defend a carriage.”
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“She's ambitious.”
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“She was also nearly fainting.”
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He grunted. “Your exhibition explanation should start there.”
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“With Lina?”
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“With a problem people recognize. They won't care about three channels until they know what the channels are for.”
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He took the last crystal from me and placed it in its case.
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“Miss Vale sent word. She has an observation about the letter's fold lines. She wants both of you present.”
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I stopped fastening the case.
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“Did she find writing?”
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“I didn't ask. She said observation, not revelation.”
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“Right.”
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Halden's expression softened almost imperceptibly. “Go after your work. Don't run there and leave the room unsecured.”
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I finished fastening the case.
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***
ㅤ
Evelyn met me outside the archive, carrying the committee's letter and looking as eager as I felt.
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Miss Vale had arranged the tracing of the letter beside a fresh sheet of paper. She showed us where the surviving creases crossed the damaged text.
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“The fold pattern is consistent with a sheet reduced several times,” she said. “Your account of the child's memory fits the physical evidence.”
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“So her memory has something behind it,” I said.
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“She described something compatible with what I can see. That's the careful way to put it.”
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Evelyn nodded. “What else?”
ㅤ
Miss Vale indicated a narrow strip near one corner. “The damage isn't evenly distributed. One edge was more exposed than the rest, perhaps because the paper was folded with this corner outward. But the residue there is too degraded to identify.”
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“Could the folding have protected the words inside?” I asked.
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“Possibly. It could also have trapped moisture. Preservation is rarely that obliging.”
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She placed a blank sheet over the tracing and folded it along the recorded lines. It became a rectangle small enough to fit in a child's palm.
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I remembered Mira saying she'd needed both hands for Sir Flopsy.
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“The Evelyn who sent Mira might have tucked it into her clothing,” I said quietly.
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Evelyn looked at the folded paper. “Or into the rabbit’s cloak.”
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Neither of us reached for the original.
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***
ㅤ
I collected Mira from Mrs. Fenwick without mentioning the archive. At home, she went straight to the window to inspect the flowers.
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“Still wet,” she reported.
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“Very observant.”
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“Did you ask Mr. Pell?”
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“Not yet. He's usually in the shop until supper.”
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She folded her arms. “You wrote it down.”
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“I did. And you're right.”
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I went downstairs while she stayed in the doorway where I could see her. Mr. Pell examined the planter, showed me the blocked drainage opening, and lent me a narrow tool to clear it. Water trickled into the courtyard channel.
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Mira crouched beside the flowers.
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“They can breathe now.”
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“That's the idea.”
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She touched one drooping stem gently. “They still look tired.”
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“Recovery takes longer than fixing the drain.”
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She accepted that, although she checked the flowers again before coming upstairs.
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***
ㅤ
After supper, I took Sir Flopsy from the shelf where Mira had placed him. His blue cloak was fastened with a tiny knot I'd repaired twice. I had never examined it as evidence; he’d been her comfort since the day she arrived, and I didn’t want to change that without asking her.
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“Mira, may I look at his cloak for a moment?”
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She glanced up from her drawing. “Why?”
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“I wondered whether the letter might have been tucked inside it. Miss Vale showed us how small the folds could make it.”
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Mira came over and held out her hands. “I'll help.”
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We checked the outside of the cloak together. There was no pocket or scrap of paper. Mira untied the knot herself and turned back the lining so we could check the visible seams. Nothing.
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“Sorry,” she said.
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I gave the rabbit back. “You have nothing to apologize for. He wasn't supposed to be a hiding place.”
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“He's supposed to be brave.”
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“He's excellent at that.”
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She retied the cloak with a crooked bow and returned to her drawing. I wrote down what we’d checked, then closed the notebook. It ruled out the cloak as it was now, not every place the letter might once have been. Mira didn’t need to carry that uncertainty for me.
ㅤ
***
ㅤ
Evelyn came by the following evening with a revised exhibition diagram. She’d taken Halden’s advice and drawn two students protecting identical targets. One used an oversized shield that consumed mana quickly; the other used a narrower barrier with carefully distributed channels.
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Mira studied the page from her place at the table.
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“That one's wasting the blue.”
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Evelyn blinked. “The blue?”
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“The big one. It's all around the empty part.”
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I looked at the diagram. Evelyn had colored the mana channels blue.
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“That's exactly what we're trying to explain,” I said.
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Mira brightened. “Can I tell the people?”
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“We haven’t confirmed whether children can attend,” Evelyn said, before I could respond. “And you wouldn’t have to answer anyone’s questions.”
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“I know how to say I don’t know.”
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“You do,” I said. “We’ll find out whether children can attend, and then decide what you’d like to do. You don’t have to be part of our demonstration.”
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Mira returned to her drawing, apparently content to let the committee consider her qualifications.
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***
ㅤ
While she worked, Evelyn and I revised the display text. We kept the technical diagram for judges and wrote a shorter explanation for visitors. Evelyn crossed out three of my sentences, I rescued one, and we agreed to discard the other two.
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“Does everyone you work with argue this much?” I asked.
ㅤ
“Only the ones who insist on calling a mana distribution error ‘wasting the blue.’”
ㅤ
“That was Mira.”
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“And she explained it more clearly than you did.”
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I put my pencil down. “I'm beginning to see why Halden likes you.”
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“He likes my calculations.”
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“He likes your ability to correct mine.”
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“That too.”
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There was a pause that didn't need filling. Evelyn reached for her tea, and I found myself watching the way she held the cup with both hands to warm her fingers.
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When she caught me looking, I asked whether the room was cold.
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“A little,” she said.
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I checked the stove and added a small piece of fuel. It wasn't a grand gesture. It was what I could do.
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***
ㅤ
Mira grew quiet as the evening went on. When I asked whether she was tired, she nodded but didn't put away her pencils.
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“Can Mommy see the new picture first?”
ㅤ
Evelyn moved her chair closer. The drawing showed the apartment table, three bowls, and a fourth small shape beside them.
ㅤ
“Is that Sir Flopsy's bowl?” she asked.
ㅤ
“He doesn't eat soup. It's for the flowers.”
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“The flowers eat at the table?”
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“They can if it's raining.”
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Evelyn studied the picture with complete seriousness. “Then we'll need to keep the floor dry.”
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Mira laughed, then leaned against her. Evelyn rested a hand lightly on the child's shoulder.
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I cleared the cups and let them have the moment without turning it into a conversation about the future.
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***
ㅤ
After Mira was asleep, Evelyn helped me put the pencils away. One had rolled beneath the table. We both reached for it and nearly knocked our heads together.
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“Sorry,” I said.
ㅤ
“You first.”
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“No, you—”
ㅤ
We stopped. Evelyn laughed, and I retrieved the pencil before we could make the situation worse.
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At the door, she looked toward the bedroom.
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“Thank you for telling me about the rabbit,” she said.
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“I thought you should know we'd checked.”
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“I meant that you asked Mira first.”
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I held the pencil between my fingers. “It's hers. Whatever happened in that room, she doesn't owe us every piece of it.”
ㅤ
Evelyn was quiet for a moment.
ㅤ
“I’m glad she’s here,” she said.
ㅤ
“So am I.”
ㅤ
“I didn’t expect to be.”
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The admission caught me off guard. She seemed to consider taking it back, then chose not to.
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“I know,” I said. “You didn’t ask for any of this.”
ㅤ
“Neither did you.”
ㅤ
“No. But I’m glad you’re part of it.”
ㅤ
She looked at me, and for once I couldn't tell whether I'd said too much or exactly enough.
ㅤ
“Good night, Adrian.”
ㅤ
“Good night, Evelyn.”
ㅤ
***
ㅤ
I found Mira's latest drawing after Evelyn left. She'd placed it beneath the earlier pictures by the window. The fourth bowl sat between the three larger ones, absurdly small and carefully colored yellow.
ㅤ
I thought about Miss Vale folding the blank sheet into a rectangle that would fit in a child's hand. We had learned something about the letter, and ruled out something else. The exhibition was moving forward. Lina had booked another lesson. The marigolds had a clear drain.
ㅤ
None of it explained why the future had sent Mira to me.