The transport tube made a seething hiss as it sucked the letter canister Arya fed it. Her eyes wandered towards the other sorters lined up on both sides. They stretched with the length of the floor, curving towards the deck leading out into the corridors. All of them wore the same color scheme with variations only based on gender and fabric.

Arya pulled against her cap, making sure her hair was still inside it and that her stumps were still hidden. Then, she picked up the next sheet in her pile, checked the address it was being sent to, and grabbed the stamp appropriate for it. She pressed down, the mechanisms of the stamp crinkling under the weight. When she withdrew, a square seal was already stuck on the corner of the envelope.

It took practice, for sure, to remember the appropriate stamps for each region in the New Civils. Arya made do with memorizing the color of the handles. Green was for the Western Provinces which were still partly monarchic. Red was for places within Aldermere and the region around it under its jurisdiction. Blue for the provinces beyond the curb of the River Klenner. Violet for everything that wasn't included in the other colors.

By habit, she rolled the envelope and smoothed the circle out with her hands. Then, she grabbed an empty canister from a crate below the illuminated desk by her stomach, and stuck the rolled envelope inside. After years of doing the same thing, the circle now fit the canister's diameter cleanly at the first roll.

Arya clicked the canister's lid shut. Then, she flicked the safeguards around it, enjoying the sharp chinks they emitted after they slid under the groove lining the canister's lip. Before she sent it up the tube, she twisted the rings around its body, resetting the lock. This method prevented the lid to open even if the safeguards were pried free. Then, she tucked the delivery code printed in a sleek card into a slot in the canister's underside. It's useful in opening the locks using the rings.

The code was also different for each canister but they didn't change. The same code would be used for the same canister for decades to come, unless the locks pop off or something goes wrong with the mechanisms inside. So, it's possible to get the same canister for two or more different deliveries for a human's lifetime.

Well, it's not like anyone's keeping tabs of the codes sent in with the canisters. Who does that?

A loud tolling rang from the rectangular prism of a pillar rising from the atrium. The bell at the top swung wide, signaling the start of the Pondiem hours. To Arya, it only meant one thing—lunch time.

She set down the next envelope she was looking to stamp. She removed the apron over her blouse and skirt, throwing it carelessly over her desk. A bottle of ink and a metal-tipped quill cluttered underneath but she couldn't bring herself to care. The bottle remained closed anyway. It's not like she has had to provide additional data in the address lines to any of the letters in her batch this morning.

Like sheep being herded towards the pasture, Arya followed the rest of the sorters in her floor and deck into a set of double doors. The first who made it there pushed them open, setting the rest of them free. When Arya cleared the doors, Eury was already tittering down the stairs leading to the floor above Arya's deck.

"Same place?" Arya called, her voice floating above all the chatter exploding in her ear. All of them were about food and break time, either way.

Eury swam through the sea of uniforms and peasant caps until she reached the spot Arya stood. All around them, the current divulged into two different streams before joining the wave once more past them. "Lewel's not cutting us some slack," she braced her knees as she caught her breath. Sweat and streaks of ink painted her friend's forehead when she straightened. "I swear she does everything she can to separate all the complicated cases and bring them to our floor."

The bubbly woman jerked her chin to Arya. "How's your batch this morning?"

Arya rolled her shoulders as they started walking again. She craned her neck to the sepia-tinged ceiling, thinking. Remembering. "Not so much violets," she tapped a finger against her chin. "But a lot of Reds and Greens."

"See, I don't even know what you're talking about," Eury massaged her temples and crossed her arms. "Did you get a lot going to Castlesain, Brinterbane, and Lornesall? Those are the worst. It's like the people there don't even know how to read, much less write complete addresses. It's a miracle their letters even make it to Aldermere."

Arya sniffed. They reached the lobby and were now trudging past the huge chandeliers which did nothing but cast an orange veil to the light around. "They have good messengers, maybe," she said. The foyer and courtyard were creeping from the space between the walls made by another set of huge, wooden doors. "It's not like there were other Postal Quarters anywhere in New Civils."

Eury pouted before frowning, clicking her tongue in frustration. "You're correct in that regard," she said, tucking her black hair behind her ear. It seemed to have dried in the open air while she was working earlier. Arya lost count of how many times she had told her best friend to put her hair up before showing up to work. It's not like Eury was going to listen. The girl hated having to do her hair in any manner.

They reached employee logs by the doors. A huge crowd has gathered, everyone eager to stamp their out-time first to have a huge fraction of the one-hour lunch break to themselves.

A small laugh of derision rang from Eury. "Look at those chipheads," she jutted her chin at the mess of clamoring people. One man swiped an arm too close to a woman's face just as she was coming to look for her name. "They don't know how to fall in line? Also, what's with the frantic searching? Weren't their names in the same place as yesterday and the bazillion days before?"

Arya's only answer was a shrug. It wasn't even three minutes until the last of the crowd trickled out of the Postal Quarters for their meal. By the time Eury was trudging towards the leftmost part of the logs, at least three quarters of the people were already gone.

Arya pursed her lips and approached the logs. They reminded her of a huge shelf punched with locked niches in neat arrays. Instead of handles, wires stuck out of each niche, disappearing back to the side, no doubt to carry the data inputted to official records. She eyed the set of buttons slotted in the right hand area of the niche and pressed one that said Lunch.

Something dinged inside as levers and pistons whizzed to stamp the time indicated by the system into a sheet of paper containing Arya's service record for the day. She was supposed to collect it every day and claim her pay inside the treasury every end of the month. Lose one slip and there would be nothing to replace it. That's just how life worked.

When they both finished punching in the time they got out, they left the Postal Quarters' shadow. Together, they tackled the familiarly busy roads of this part of Aldermere. Compared to the posh neighborhood surrounding the vicinity of Barnholdt, the area where the Postal Quarters were founded was on the poorer side.

The smell of rotting fruit and spoiled food filled the air. After working in this area for quite a while, it was almost negligible for Arya. Eury, on the other hand, had her fingers clamped over her nose, her eyebrows drawn together in discomfort.

People dressed in different colored uniforms from other workplaces along the lane bustled past them, each lost to their own wishes to eat a hearty meal for the afternoon. Arya tucked her hands into the pockets of her skirts and focused on getting one leather shoe in front of the other.

Soon, the familiar bend crept up. Arya took it, bringing her close to an alley peppered with restaurants and cafes. She counted two colorful awnings and glass-paned front windows, arriving in front of a dingy and dark spot. The cobblestones seemed to be pried off the floor in this area, with the road so pockmarked. Water from the cleaners' attempts to scrub their front yard still remained inside some.

Eury wasted no time. She gripped the door's rusty handle and pushed. A small bell tinkled upon being hit by the swinging door. Arya ducked inside before her friend could shut it in her face. Inside, the same array of tables and chairs filled her view.

A counter curving from one part of the wall towards the back door slid into Arya's vision. Eury sauntered towards it and propped her arms atop the wooden surface. Arya, being a head shorter than Eury, struggled to even do that. At last, she could lay her hand on top.

"The usual, please." Eury ordered.

The cook, dressed in an all-white coat and dark trousers, nodded gruffly. "Coming. Number?"

Eury grinned. "We'll be at our usual place. Twenty-seven."

Then, just like all the times they ate here, Arya peeled off the counter and trudged towards their usual table. It was a simple, square one but it was pushed next to the front window, giving them enough vantage point to see if any of their co-workers were already coming back to the Postal Quarters. If anything, it was a strategic place so that they could spend as much time as they wanted outside before having to go back.

A server gave them their cutlery and two glasses of clear water. Arya muttered her thanks. "So, you still have to tell me where you disappeared to during our trip to Barnholdt."

Arya leveled her gaze at her best friend. "And you still have yet to acknowledge that the trip was a bust."

"Oh, my gods!" Eury exclaimed. Several heads from neighboring tables turned to them. Eventually, they lost interest. Which was good. "How many times must you rub it in my face? Look, the person I got it from also had no idea it was an exhibition for smuggled fae. He was horrified as well when I told him."

"Does he know?" Arya asked. Her tone was a little too pointed.

Eury's face was serious. Flat. "No," she said, knowing full well what Arya was referring to. "He doesn't."

"Is he one as well?" Arya kept her words minced and vague, capable of being interpreted as literally anything else other than the real topic they were talking about. "How in the Civils did he get his hands on those?"

"I honestly have no idea. Am I forgiven?" Eury asked to which Arya gave a subtle nod to. Eury, then, crossed her arms and leaned against the backrest of her seat. The legs creaked under her weight. "So, are you going to tell me?"

Arya blew a breath and fixed her hand more out of habit than actual necessity. Then, the story spilled out. Starting from the point when she ran out of the auditorium until she ended up with the painting. Meeting Norren...

...and giving him her wire address just because he asked. So nicely, in fact.

By the time she finished, Eury's eyebrows had never stopped being raised. "That's cute," she said. "The next thing I know, you guys have cute little midgets running around."

Heat rushed to Arya's face when a jab like that should have never had an effect on her. "I-it's not like that," she scratched the back of her neck which began prickling. "It's never going to be like that. I promise. I'm just...enjoying his company while I can."

"But you do sound good together," Eury said. Their food arrived and the smoke of good meat wafted to Arya's nose.

Arya retrieved her cutlery and began cutting into the slab of meat. Nobody would even be able to tell she's fae judging from how she relished her food. It's also something her kind have learned in their motive to assimilate with the humans. Eat what they eat even if it's disgusting and unethical.

"He doesn't know, Eury," Arya said in a pointed and final tone. "You know what would happen if he did."

Eury smacked her lips, shoving another bit into her mouth. "So, are you gonna tell him eventually?"

"I don't want to drive him away," Arya said. An unprecedented sorrow curled at the base of her gut. Suddenly, the meat didn't taste so good anymore. "I also don't want to keep lying to him."

"As a summary," Eury speared one pea and popped it into her mouth. "You don't know what you're doing."

Arya laughed. Her best friend always had the brightest ideas. "Yeah. Something like that," she said. "It's not like we have our whole lives ahead of us, Eury. Our time together is limited. Might as well make the most of it. That's why I agreed to accompany him this weekend."

"What?!" Eury slammed a hand on the table, earning more glances. By Arya's tally, the most common expression was annoyance. It's a relief nobody born with one half of a silver spoon wandered into this place. "When are you going to tell me that?"

Arya withered under her friend's smoldering gaze. "I just did," she said, her voice dropping a few waves softer.

"You're going on a date with the man you met at a museum, whom you exchanged numbers with," Eury said. "And I'm the last to know?"

"Cornelia doesn't know either," Arya defended. Why was she even doing that? It wasn't like Eury would murder her for it. "And it's not a date."

Eury rolled her eyes as if she couldn't believe she was even having this conversation. "You are going out of your flat. To go with a guy you barely know. On a weekend," she scoffed, crossing her arms over her uniform again. "Yeah, it's a date alright. How did he even ask you out?"

Arya stared down at her food, hoping to avoid Eury's hawk-like eyes from piercing her confidence out of her brain. "Through wire," she said. "Asked me if I wanted to go with him to a fictiontale release because he accidentally bought a ticket that allowed him to bring a guest."

Eury snorted. "Oh, it's not an accident," she said. "Guy's into you. Congratulations."

Arya opened her mouth to deny it, to tell Eury it was nothing but a friendship, but something stopped her. Made her think their meeting in the museum in front of the painting of the lark was more than just a coincidence.

"Let's just go," Arya picked the last bite off the tip of her fork and chewed. "Lunch time's almost over."

Eury, bless her heart, didn't bother replying.

As they walked back to the Postal Quarters, Arya mulled about her conversation with Eury. So, Norren liked her. That's why he made the first move of asking for her address and calling. But...why? Did he find her in that museum by accident?

A distant tolling rang in the air. She looked up for her eyes to fall on ruins of the belltower which stood since the reign of the Old Kingdom. It was hazy and dark in the distance, obscured by low-lying clouds and the outcrops of roofs and chimneys, but it towered over the rest of Aldermere like an ominous beacon.

The tolling continued, seemingly drawing Arya to its shadow, to the bell on its head which hasn't been rung in ages. It's coming from there...right?

"Ari! What are you doing? We're going to be late!" Eury's voice sounded far away but it jarred Arya back to reality. She snapped out of her reverie to find her friend already several paces ahead. She had to jog to catch up. "Why are you spacing out, miss?" her friend asked. "That steak too good?"

As an answer, Arya just rolled her eyes.

Yes, everything that happened recently couldn't have been attributed to what the nagging feeling at the back of her head was telling her they were. There were no premeditated circumstances. Not even a sliver of fate playing around Arya's life.

Everything was just what she thought of it with what's left of her logic and reasoning. It couldn't have been fate. It was the opposite of that—coincidence.