The morning came in the way good mornings came. Quietly, without announcing itself, the light arriving through the east-facing window at the angle it had always arrived, the specific warmth of it that turned ordinary things into something worth looking at. The cup on the table. The blanket across my lap. The flowers Asha had brought two days ago, yellow ones, in the plain cup on the windowsill.I had asked for the east-facing room. Nobody had needed to ask why.Rhex was in the chair to my left. He had arrived the previous evening without being called, which was entirely Rhex, showing up because the showing up was needed and not waiting to be asked. He had brought filled bread from the market stall and we had eaten together and argued about whether the grey cat, who had been living on the courtyard wall for eleven years and had outlasted every reasonable expectation, belonged to the school or to the city or to nobody, which was the argument we always had about the cat and which neither