Amy's POV
The light came in soft through the curtains.
Amy stirred before her alarm, her breath steady, eyes blinking open into the familiar shape of her ceiling. The apartment was quiet — no distant giggles from Lumi, no footsteps, no voices. Just her. Alone.
She sat up slowly, brushing a hand through her hair.
The memory of the night before drifted in like a slow wave — the sound of Sara's laugh under the lights, the look on her face when she said yes, the way the quiet between them felt almost… safe.
Amy smiled.
Then she exhaled, deep and steady, and stood.
There were things to do.
She tied her hair back and opened the closet. A duffel bag sat ready on the floor — not emergency-packed, not panicked. Just prepared. Like everything else now.
Her fingers moved on instinct. Drawers opened. Shelves cleared. Books stacked neatly in crates. She sorted the important from the sentimental, deciding which things would go to her grandmother's home and which could be sold, donated, or discarded.
Her combat boots. A half-broken music box Lumi gave her once. A necklace with no enchantment, just memory.
It was strange — how small her life looked when folded into boxes.
By the time she paused, sunlight was already stretching across the floor. The apartment, once cramped with the marks of student life, now looked stripped — like a model unit waiting for its next tenant.
Amy sat on the floor with her knees drawn up, phone in hand. She scrolled through listings for certified movers — discreet, reliable, licensed.
No magic transport. No Item Box. No shortcuts.
There had to be a paper trail. Something that looked mundane. Expected.
She tapped the contact button.
"Hello? Yes. I'm scheduling a full move-out. Apartment complex on Kensei Avenue. Everything will be boxed and labeled. No stairs — garage access only. I'd like it done by this afternoon, if possible."
Pause.
"Yes. All prepaid. Destination is in the outer district. I'll send the coordinates."
Another pause.
"Also…" she glanced around. "I'll be selling the unit. Can you recommend a listing agent?"
By noon, the company confirmed. A team would arrive by 3:00 p.m. She would be ready.
Amy leaned back against the wall, eyes trailing over what little remained.
Her old high school textbooks. A calendar still pinned to the fridge. A cracked mug with "storm eyes" written in Lumi's messy handwriting.
She touched the edge of the mug.
It wouldn't come with her.
Not because it wasn't important — but because it belonged to this version of her. The one who hadn't known. Who'd survived without realizing she was waiting.
This apartment had been a shelter.
Now, it was just a room.
And she was ready to leave it behind.
…
The movers arrived just after three.
Two quiet professionals in company-marked uniforms, accompanied by a hovering cargo sled and a folding lift system. Efficient. Discreet. The kind Amy preferred.
She opened the door without a word and gestured them in.
Everything had already been boxed and sealed. No need for sorting or questions. She handed them the access code for the basement garage and the delivery coordinates, printed and stamped with the proper routing tags. There would be a trace — on purpose.
"Do you want to meet us at the drop-off point?" one of them asked.
Amy nodded once. "I'll guide you there."
They didn't argue. One of them gave a sharp nod, and the other loaded the boxes onto the sled, careful and fast. Within the hour, the apartment stood empty. She gave it a final sweep, checking behind doors, inside the closet, beneath the kitchen sink.
Nothing left.
Amy locked the door behind her and didn't look back.
…
The drive to the outskirts was quiet.
She sat in the front of the Lilac Ghost, window cracked just slightly. Pale late-afternoon light spilled across the dashboard.
Her eyes traced the skyline as they left the city — familiar towers shrinking behind them, replaced by low-hanging trees and long roads with fewer signs. The nearer they got to the mansion, the more she felt it: that quiet hum beneath the skin, like something old waiting to wake again.
By the time the truck pulled into the private road, the hidden exterior gates of the Elaris property slid open with a soft pulse of recognition.
The house stood as it always had — quiet, patient, alive.
The movers parked beside the secondary garage path. Amy led them through the side entrance and directed each crate and case with precise instructions. Upstairs. Closet. Storage room. Studio wing.
They worked quickly. Within another hour, everything had been transferred and stacked neatly.
She signed the confirmation log. No questions. No red flags.
They left as the sky turned gold.
And for the first time in years, the mansion wasn't empty.