Three months later.
Jakarta in December had a particular quality that Hana had always loved — the way the city carried the end of the year with a kind of loud, unapologetic joy that had nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with the particular character of a place that found reasons to celebrate in the gaps between ordinary days.
She noticed it on the morning commute. In the extra color on the streets. In the way the office towers caught the December light and held it differently than they had in September and October and November — as if even buildings accumulated something over the course of a year.
She walked into Arcadia Group at eight forty-five with coffee in hand and the particular settled feeling of someone who has arrived — not just at a building, not just at a jo
