BEFORE THE CEREMONY
The night before the equinox ceremony, Roger and I sat on the roof.
We had climbed up the way we always did, through the narrow maintenance hatch at the end of the third-floor corridor, the metal ladder cool beneath our hands, the quiet creak of it familiar in a way that felt almost private. It was a habit we had never announced, never formalized. Just something that became ours over time.
The roof stretched wide and gently sloped, the slate still holding a trace of the day’s warmth, though the air had already begun to turn.
Summer had ended without asking permission.
The shift was subtle, but unmistakable, the kind of cold that didn’t bite, didn’t demand, just clarified everything it touched. The air felt thinner, sharper. Cleaner. It carried the scent of distant
