In a dim apartment tucked inside Blüdhaven’s quieter streets, the alarm clock rang right on schedule.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡg5gmMJsTpM
Jazz seeped from the radio—one of those mellow, slightly dusty tunes that sound like they’ve been playing since the 1950s.
Claire blinked herself awake. Her brown eyes were still cloudy with sleep, but her body was already moving, out of habit more than intent.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBWRuWU6muS
— Another morning, just as unremarkable as the last. Her limbs knew what to do. Her thoughts hadn’t caught up yet.
She got up slowly, pulled on her clothes, and watered the plant by the window.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡO1w9KABr0c
— It looked like it had grown another inch. She always suspected it was secretly a cactus pretending to be something else.
By the time she reached the kitchen, the sky was barely awake—dark navy at the edges, with the faintest smear of light.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6PE4j79eee
— The sky felt like her: still hitting snooze, refusing to fully rise.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdiTgZYczDg
Claire never liked the moment daylight really took over. It was too loud. Too confident.
She ran a café. Small, slightly crooked, hiding in a forgettable alley.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQYyIfjTE0k
It used to be a secondhand store, left behind by her late aunt. Claire had turned it into something warm, something caffeinated.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEJiI8yo700
— Her aunt had... eccentric tastes. Claire never did figure out why she collected so many strange little things.
The only perk of the café’s location? It sat next to the Blüdhaven police precinct.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0mdvjkPGz8
Which meant she could afford to stay open until 7 p.m., unlike most shops that shut down by three.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡESV92Wlq0u
— Cops might be sarcastic as hell, but at least they order fast.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡn4ApGHw81Y
Way better than the afternoon crowd asking if she carried decaf-organic-soy-lattes while holding a shivering chihuahua.
When Claire took over the place, she didn’t know what to do with all the oddities left behind—prosthetic hands, glass eyeballs, and a music box that felt vaguely cursed.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJzHMXa8hJo
She shoved most of it upstairs into the second-floor room.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEUeHlZaWgu
— She never opened the music box. It always felt like it was waiting for her to mess something up.
She only used the first and third floors anyway.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPui6nu4veO
— Life had enough things she couldn’t control. As long as the building didn’t collapse, she wasn’t going to micromanage its haunted corners.
In the back kitchen, she pulled out yesterday’s dough and started shaping bagels.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOlxLySUcfq
The work rush would start soon.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtmE0Ctx0Oj
— Dough was gentle. Predictable. You give it time, temperature, attention—it behaves.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡT2LmMfMzoh
People, not so much.
Claire felt oddly good that morning. Like maybe there’d be a steady stream of customers.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfWxZsBBbk2
— She was probably wrong. But a little self-deception before sunrise was better than starting the day already defeated.
She’d just finished lining up the bagels when the newspaper landed outside with a thud.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEBwHjJ5drx
She picked it up, glanced at the cover.
Nightwing.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXypiXKbeEV
Leaping mid-air, grinning like he knew the whole city was watching.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7twPosZSkx
Baton in hand. Camera focused squarely on his backside.
Claire…
— Rolled her eyes.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMCCsC6Uwpn
Did photographers forget faces existed? Or were asses genuinely more marketable now?
She tossed the paper onto the counter for whoever wanted it.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9sImXCpu9t
— Whatever. That ass might end up more popular than her bagels today.
The bell over the door rang. First customer of the day.
Claire smiled. A regular. Middle-aged cop, heading into work.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡR5efCa05w1
— Always ordered the same thing: two black coffees. One for himself. The other? Never said. Claire never asked.
And just like that, the day began.
—--------------------------
The alarm rang in the dim apartment.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaJRIPMTam4
The jazz tune came on again—mellow, familiar, almost too familiar.
Claire opened her eyes, brown and heavy with sleep, and forced herself upright.
— She’d heard this before. Yesterday.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFEnJD9lyTG
That saxophone bend into the chorus, the beat that tripped just slightly before the downbeat—she could hum along.
Jazz wasn’t Top 40. No one plays the same track two days in a row.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWjpz5eZdnv
She frowned. Was it some jazz week promotion? A record label paying the station to loop the same song?
— No. This was lazy.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHgZ1BzhLWX
No edit, no transition. It picked up at the exact same spot as yesterday.
Claire sat up slowly. Her eyes were still half-closed, but her nerves were beginning to itch. Just enough to notice.
She dressed. Watered the window plant. Went downstairs.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ29byQiGZd3
Same as always.
She glanced out the window. The sky looked about right for the season—late dawn, pale at the edges.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2yWhRbQZkZ
Nothing too weird. Not yet.
She stepped into the kitchen and pulled out the dough.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwwJ1ORPlcj
But stopped.
— That’s not right.
She remembered preparing chocolate dough last night. She wanted to make something sweet for Easter.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2cZxot1xDf
Added a pinch of cinnamon, too—just enough to give it depth.
But the dough in front of her? It was plain. Just like yesterday.
Maybe… she misremembered?51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZ7IjpcZwTc
Claire shrugged it off and started baking anyway.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1mEknoKeQQ
— People get tired. Thoughts blur. Maybe she never made the chocolate batch at all.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7uo55Ps7IS
No point snapping at herself. Bagels don’t care.
The paper arrived.
She picked it up. Froze.
— That photo. That angle.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkI92XoarsR
That...ass.
She’d seen that picture.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAlXMkha0dF
Nightwing in midair, beaming like a rogue gymnast, baton in hand—camera lovingly focused on his backside.
Her temple twitched.
This was yesterday’s newspaper.
She remembered the exact thought from the morning before:51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXMlo8Fu3nr
“Do photographers even remember to shoot faces?”
It floated up again, uninvited.
She flipped the paper to check the date.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOEprAanpkx
April 21st.
She looked toward the door, maybe to call after the delivery guy, but no one was there.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXPyLyeDkJz
Too late.
Still frowning, she set the paper on the counter and walked back toward the register.
The bell jingled. First customer.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrdxqEfpBr4
Same man as yesterday.
Claire greeted him with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Hey Kyle,” she said. “You seen today’s paper?”
“Oh yeah,” he grinned. “That Nightwing kid again, huh?”
He glanced down at the cover and chuckled.
Claire swallowed her complaint about the mistaken delivery.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqysqeNYKeT
Maybe it was just a fluke.
She cleared her throat.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQvP6jOsBsj
“Kyle…what’s today’s date?”
Kyle blinked, then gave a little laugh. “April 21st, Claire. Easter Sunday.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡH1TZ7wG0yc
And hey—Happy Easter!”
Claire’s eyes widened.
— April 21st.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxxYhB3hbQ4
She was sure that was yesterday.
She wasn’t the kind of person who forgot holidays. She’d even drawn a stupid bunny on a sticky note in the back kitchen.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGz9t0oJH6l
It was still there, taped to the counter. A reminder to push hot chocolate sales.
Her chest tightened.
Kyle was still smiling, saying something cheerful.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡonlVSK536U
But she couldn’t hear him anymore.
Her mind had narrowed into one small, steady sentence:
— What the hell is going on?
51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQdgJdxiLHI
and then Add to home screen.