Chapter 7 · The Inspector’s Umbrella

The black corridor waited beyond the shop door.

Rain fell through it without making a sound. Each drop vanished somewhere between the threshold and the darkness, as if the corridor had forgotten what water was supposed to do.

Lin Lan held the breathing coat against her chest. Its damp lining rose and fell beneath her palms. In. Out. In. Out.

The rhythm matched her own.

Behind her, Nara stood barefoot among the broken glass from the needle box. Her face had gone pale enough to make the shadows beneath her eyes look bruised.

“Lin,” she whispered. “Don’t answer it.”

From the corridor came Lan Mei’s lullaby.

Not a recording. Not an echo. The notes bent around the walls with the intimate warmth of a woman singing beside a child’s bed.

Little blue bird, close your eyes—

Lin’s fingers tightened around the coat.

“You heard it too,” she said.

Nara flinched as though Lin had struck her. “I heard a voice.”

“My mother’s voice.”

“I know.”

That answer cut deeper than denial.

Lin turned. “How?”

Nara’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. The rain hissed against the windows.