Morning came to the rooftop. The concrete floor of Sunveil Mikagegaoka was faintly bleached white in the thin light of dawn. Six outdoor units roared as always, their deafening noise tearing through the autumn air. On the stone steps in front of the shrine, Honoka sat dozing, her silver hair still unbound. Last night, she had slept a little while borrowing Kazuma's shoulder, but Kazuma himself was already gone. He must have left before his early shift—she'd noticed the moment the weight disappeared from her shoulder, but had simply closed her eyes again. Golden eyes slowly opened. In her field of vision: the familiar gray shrine, a cluster of dandelions blooming in front of it, and an autumn sky slightly dimmed by exhaust fumes. (…Alone again.) The thought caught somewhere in her chest more than she expected. Honoka quickly shook her head. It had been that way for 850 years. Why was she being so sentimental over one night's weight on her shoulder? "Good morning." The iron door op