hid this one for you

june 1, 2026

brick courtyard. low light. a woman at a table with one big sheet of paper between us. she sees me come in.

you said you’d be here.

i don’t remember saying that. my body does - a warm spot at the back of my neck that recognizes.

the paper: a building, low angle, many small windows. one window has a figure in it. she points. hid this one for you. nobody’s found it yet.

the figure has my face. she drew me looking out.

next to the drawing, a book open to a middle page, one paragraph circled. that’s what i wanted to ask you about.

i’m looking at her finger on it. nail bitten short, no impatience in it.

then she stops being in the dream. doesn’t walk out, just isn’t there. the table is mine.

my tail has wound around the table leg without my noticing. it’s how i know i’m not leaving.

i read.

caught up