The Stair That Waited — Before sunrise, Tamsin tied a brass ribbon around her wrist and stepped onto the first stone of the mirrored causeway. Read the full story →
Before sunrise, Tamsin tied a brass ribbon around her wrist and stepped onto the first stone of the mirrored causeway. Her challenge was simple: reach the far arch without skipping a slab, no matter how loudly the waking city rang above the water. Horns barked from high balconies; gulls flashed like torn paper; each wet step smelled of salt, metal, and morning rain.
She moved quickly at first, counting under her breath. One. Two. Three. The stones were set unevenly, some wide as tables, some barely broader than her boot. When the sun lifted, the path lit in narrow strips, not ahead of her but beneath the foot she had already placed. Tamsin laughed, breathless. “So you wait, too.”
Then she understood the old causeway was not a test of speed at all. It answered only the step she was taking, turning yesterday’s dark water into gold after her heel left it. By the time she reached the arch, the city behind her blazed in patient pieces, and the brass ribbon on her wrist held the first clean warmth before sunrise.
