Page 66 of Night Shift

Calliope freezes beside me.

“I KNOW WHAT YOU DID!”

I recognize Petra’s voice immediately.

Calliope closes her eyes and drops her forehead against my shoulder.

“How does she know?” I ask.

“She’s fueled by spite.”

Another round of pounding follows, accompanied by a threat involving Zadok, the town council, and what I believe is a tire iron.

Calliope drags herself from bed and pulls on her robe before marching into the living room. I follow her, curious to learn how Petra detected a discrepancy of less than three minutes from across town.

When Calliope opens the door, Petra stands in the hallway wearing slippers and a bathrobe, with a sleep mask shoved onto her forehead. Her rocky face is set in an expression of profound betrayal.

She points at me.

“Three minutes.”

“Two minutes and forty-eight seconds.”

“THAT IS NOT BETTER.”

“You do not teach yoga on Sundays.”

“That is not the point.”

“You have said that before.”

Petra's eyes narrow. “Because you keep doing things that are not the point.”

Calliope presses her lips together, although not quickly enough to hide her smile.

“Let the sun up, Erebus.”

I do.

Morning spills through the apartment windows, warm and golden, illuminating the hallway and Petra’s deeply unimpressed face. She squints against the sudden brightness before pointing at me again.

“Tuesday. Sunrise yoga. You’re coming.”

“I am flexible.”

“You better learn to be.”

With that, she turns and stomps down the hallway, muttering something about cosmic narcissists and filing another complaint with the mayor.

Calliope closes the door and leans against it, laughing.

“You realize she's going to check the sunrise every morning for the rest of her life now.”

“I believe she already does.”

“Probably.” She comes toward me and slips her arms around my waist. “No more delaying Dawn.”

“I understand.”

“Ever.”

I hesitate only long enough for her eyes to narrow.

“I understand.”

Satisfied, she takes my hand and leads me back toward the bedroom as sunlight spreads through the apartment.

Once, I believed eternity was the greatest measure of value, but Calliope has taught me otherwise. This life is finite, filled with ordinary mornings, burnt coffee, unreasonable goats, angry rock monsters and a woman who leaves every day with no promise beyond her desire to return.

That is what makes every moment precious.

Night will come again. It always does.

And when it does, I will be here.

THE END