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Sir Flopsy landed on my chest before sunrise.
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I opened one eye. The girl stood beside the bed, holding the rabbit by his good ear.
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“Is something wrong?”
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“Round eggs.”
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“Good morning to you too.”
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“You promised to practice.”
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Beyond the window, the sky was only beginning to lighten. Someone was moving about in the guesthouse kitchen downstairs. I considered explaining that promises made over breakfast shouldn't become obligations before dawn, but she was watching me with the patience of someone who knew she would win.
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“Your father is still asleep,” I said.
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“No, you're not.”
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I sat up and caught Sir Flopsy before he slid off the blanket. “An excellent point.”
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***
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My future self apparently used a metal ring to keep the eggs round. I didn't own one, and Mrs. Alder's kitchen had nothing suitable, so I tried guiding the first egg with the edge of a spoon. It escaped anyway.
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“That's a moon,” she said from her chair, safely away from the stove.
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“Moons are round.”
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“It's missing a piece.”
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“The second one will be better.”
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The second looked like a shoe. She studied both plates before choosing the shoe, which she considered an excellent breakfast once I added cheese. I ate the moon.
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She wasn't disappointed. She liked instructing me, even when I failed to reproduce something her other Daddy could apparently make without thinking. Between bites, she explained that I sometimes added herbs from our garden. I asked which ones, but she only remembered that some were green and one smelled nice. I wrote down ask about herbs rather than risk serving her something from a roadside hedge.
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Marcus arrived carrying a picture book beneath his arm. She showed him her empty plate before he'd removed his coat.
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“Daddy made a shoe. With cheese.”
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“A promising career change,” Marcus told me.
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“I already have a job.”
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“And yet you're wasting this talent on defensive magic.”
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He sat beside her and opened the book. I checked their water, the food I'd left, and the guesthouse key before gathering my notes. It was an absurd amount of preparation for a morning away, but I was still learning which things couldn't be improvised after I left.
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“I'm taking her to meet Mrs. Fenwick this afternoon,” I reminded him.
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“The caretaker?”
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“If the arrangement works, you won't have to give up your mornings.”
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“I'm not being held prisoner, Adrian.”
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“I know. I should at least pretend to worry about your classes.”
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“I'll tell you when it becomes a problem.”
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The girl lifted her head. “Will Uncle Marcus still visit?”
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“Of course,” he said, without making her wait for the answer.
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She returned to the picture book. By the time I left, they were debating whether the illustrated dragon was smiling at a knight or preparing to eat him.
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***
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Halden had yesterday's report open when I reached his office.
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“Your handwriting is improving.”
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“Thank you, Professor.”
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“Marginally.”
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“I'll take what I can get.”
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He pushed three pages across the desk. Evelyn had submitted them the previous night. I recognized her diagrams, though she'd expanded the mana channels and added a proposed third spell to the final sequence.
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“She's moving quickly,” I said.
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“She usually does.”
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I read the calculations twice. We'd managed eleven seconds with two spells yesterday. Introducing a third before we understood the second configuration would give us another way to fail without telling us why.
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“I'd rather improve what we have first.”
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“Read her final paragraph.”
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Evelyn had proposed reversing the activation order to reduce the barrier's initial mana cost before introducing the third spell. I went back over the diagram. She'd identified the same uncertainty, although her schedule was more ambitious than mine.
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“She wants to test the third tomorrow,” Halden said. “You want to delay it.”
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“Then today's results should decide.”
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He tapped the report. “That's what you're being paid to do.”
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***
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Evelyn was already at station four, silver hair tied back while she checked the measuring crystals against her notebook.
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“Good morning, Lady Rosenfeld.”
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“Adrian. Did you read my proposal?”
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“Yes. The revised channel is worth testing. I'm less certain about adding the third spell.”
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“Because the second remains unstable?”
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“Because we don't know how much the activation order contributes to the improvement.”
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She handed me the notebook. “Then let's find out.”
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We spent the first part of the session comparing diagrams. Evelyn caught a reinforcement point I'd placed too close to the offensive channel. I suggested forming the initial barrier before splitting the mana. Neither adjustment demanded more power, which mattered to me when the entire exercise was about sustaining two structures at once.
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Evelyn had enough mana to make brute force tempting. She listened anyway, pencil resting against the page while I explained what I wanted to measure. Then she drew the revised path herself.
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The first attempt lasted fourteen seconds. The second lasted sixteen. On the third, Evelyn held both spells for seventeen before releasing them.
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I checked the crystals against her notes. “The new order is reducing interference.”
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“Not enough.”
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“Three successful attempts.”
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“I can count.”
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“Then you know that's better than one.”
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She gave me a look, but stepped out of the circle when I offered her the water I'd brought to the station.
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“Five minutes,” I said.
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“I haven't asked for a break.”
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“I know. I need time to label these before I confuse the diagrams.”
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That, at least, she accepted without argument. She sat beside me, took one look at my figures, and corrected the label on a mana channel.
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“Your handwriting is still terrible.”
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“Halden thinks it's improving.”
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“He's being kind.”
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“That would be a first.”
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The corner of her mouth lifted. She lowered her eyes to the figures before I could decide whether I'd imagined it.
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Our final attempt lasted nineteen seconds. Evelyn copied the reading into her notebook, then examined the crystal once more.
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“I want to repeat this tomorrow.”
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“I agree.”
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“And test the third spell afterward.”
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“If the first results remain consistent.”
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She considered that condition, then closed her notebook. “Agreed.”
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While I packed the equipment, her gaze settled on the paper bag beside my chair.
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“Have you eaten?”
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“Yes.”
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“Then what's that?”
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“Honey biscuits.”
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“It's nearly noon.”
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“They're not my lunch.”
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I'd bought them for her before remembering Marcus had brought snacks. Evelyn waited, and I tried to find an answer that wouldn't require me to explain the child waiting at the guesthouse.
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“Someone asked me to bring them home.”
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“A friend?”
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“Something like that.”
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She nodded and resumed gathering her things. I was grateful she didn't press.
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“Halden mentioned you have an obligation this afternoon,” she said at the door. “Will it interfere with tomorrow's session?”
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“No. I'll be here.”
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“Good.”
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I finished the report and returned to the guesthouse to collect the girl.
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***
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Mrs. Fenwick lived two streets away in a modest house with blue shutters. Herbs grew beneath the front window, and a basket of sewing supplies stood beside the door. The girl hid behind my leg when the retired seamstress greeted us.
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“Hello, little miss.”
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She said nothing. Mrs. Fenwick crouched without coming closer.
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“That's a fine rabbit.”
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“His ear was broken,” she said, peering around me.
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“I can see where someone repaired it.”
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“Mommy did.”
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“She used strong thread.”
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The girl stepped forward and offered Sir Flopsy for inspection. Mrs. Fenwick examined the stitching as carefully as if she'd been asked to assess an expensive coat.
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“It should hold. If the other ear needs attention, bring him to me.”
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“Okay.”
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I hadn't expected a damaged rabbit to make introductions easier. I was glad it had.
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Inside, Mrs. Fenwick showed us the sitting room: books, a low table, and a basket of wooden toys. She cared for children from several academy families, usually around lectures and examinations. We discussed my timetable, meals, and what she should do if I was delayed.
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Her usual weekly rate was eighteen silver. The guesthouse cost forty-two, and my assistantship paid twelve. I looked at the schedule again, hoping the figures might become friendlier in a different order.
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“Is the price a difficulty?” she asked.
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“It's more than I can comfortably manage.”
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“How many hours do you actually need?”
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I showed her my timetable. Marcus could cover some mornings, and I didn't need overnight care. She calculated a reduced arrangement. It would still hurt, but I could manage it for now.
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“We can try that for the first week,” she said. “Then adjust it if your schedule changes.”
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“Thank you.”
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She turned to a fresh page. “Does the child have any allergies?”
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I opened my mouth. I'd known the girl for days, fed her breakfast, tucked her into bed, and worried about whether she was warm enough. I had no idea how to answer.
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“Not that I know of.”
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“Any medication?”
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“None that I'm aware of.”
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“Has she been ill recently?”
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“No.” The answer came too quickly. “Not since she's been with me. I don't know about before.”
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Mrs. Fenwick wrote that down without making me explain. When she asked about foods the girl refused, my daughter answered for herself.
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“Vegetables.”
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“A common complaint,” Mrs. Fenwick said. “We'll see what we can do.”
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My daughter looked alarmed. Normally I might have laughed. Instead I was thinking of all the things a parent ought to know before leaving a child in someone else's care.
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I asked Mrs. Fenwick to tell me if she noticed anything unusual about my daughter's health or behavior. She agreed and told me to write down anything else I remembered.
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***
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We stopped at a bakery on the way back. My daughter chose a honey biscuit, broke it in half, and offered me the smaller piece.
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“Thank you,” I said. I waited until we'd walked a little farther before asking, “Do any foods make you feel sick?”
ㅤ
She shook her head. She didn't remember taking medicine at home either. She listed porridge, toast, apples, and soup among the things she ate besides eggs. Mommy's soup was good, apparently, but only sometimes.
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I let the conversation settle before asking, “Is there anything you're afraid of?”
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Her steps slowed. “Sometimes.”
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“What frightens you?”
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“When people don't come home.”
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Her fingers tightened around mine. I stopped beside a closed shop and crouched so I could see her face.
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“Were you worried about me today?”
ㅤ
“A little.”
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“I told you I'd come back after work.”
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“I know.” She looked at Sir Flopsy. “Mommy used to wait by the window.”
ㅤ
I didn't ask whether that had been before or after my death. She was struggling to tell me this much, and people were passing close enough to hear. I told her where I'd be tomorrow and when she could expect me back.
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“Will you tell me every day?”
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“Yes.”
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She wrapped her arms around my neck. I held her until she loosened her grip and was ready to walk.
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***
ㅤ
That evening I opened a clean notebook and wrote a heading: Things I Need to Know About My Daughter.
ㅤ
The girl climbed onto the chair beside me. “Is that homework?”
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“In a way.”
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I recorded what she'd told me about food and medicine, the hours Mrs. Fenwick would need, and the questions I still couldn't answer. At the bottom I added one instruction to myself: Tell her when I'll be home.
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“Can I help?” she asked.
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I gave her a pencil. She drew three rabbits beneath my notes, one large, one smaller, and one so tiny its ears barely fitted on the page.
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“Sir Flopsy's family?”
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“No. Ours.”
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She pointed to the largest. “Mommy.” Then the smallest. “Me.”
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“And the other one's me?”
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“Yep.”
ㅤ
“Why am I smaller than Mommy?”
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She thought about it. “Because Mommy's scarier.”
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I laughed before I could stop myself, and she joined in, delighted that she'd surprised me. I left her drawing where it was. The notebook was meant to help me care for her, and she'd already made it something we shared.