The next season arrived without permission.
Aaliyah felt it before she recognized it, an almost imperceptible shift in how mornings began. The light changed first, angling differently across the room, touching corners it had ignored for months. The air carried a faint sharpness now, a reminder that time continued whether it was managed or not.
She welcomed that.
For years, seasons had registered only as variables, deadlines accelerated in winter, urgency spiked in summer, transitions aligned with fiscal quarters rather than weather. Now, the change felt personal.
Physical.
Real.
Rowan noticed it too.
"You're dressing differently," Rowan said one morning, watching Aaliyah choose a sweater instead of the structured jacket she once favored.
Aaliyah smiled. "I don't need armor for conversations anymore."
Rowan laughed softly. "That's a sentence you couldn't have said a year ago."
Aaliyah paused. "I don't think I would've believed it then."
