The city had begun to shift. A carriage rattled past, its driver perched high, baskets piled behind him. The scent of warm bread followed in its wake, rich and tempting in the crisp morning air. Felix passed two men in black hats, their steps clipped, their conversationhushed. Above, a window blinked with light—fires lit, kettles stirred, households easing into the day.
His pace held steady as he turned onto Mansfield Road toward Piccadilly. The wind caught a loose thread of his cravat, but he let it tug. His gaze stayed on the sleeping pup. She gave off a soft warmth, steadying him in a way nothing else had in weeks.
Regent Street curved ahead, quiet and broad, its facades touched by early light. He didn’t count buildings—he never had to. Number 35 waited near the bend, its stone exterior still steeped in shadows, the large window blanketed in the stillness of a day not yet begun.
Felix stopped. His eyes traced the sign above the door, familiar down to the hairline cracks in the wood. Something loosened inside him—something that had been drawn tight since the night before. He looked down. The puppy’s nose twitched.
“Come and say hello to my friends, little one,” Felix whispered, voice softer than the breeze. He shifted her gently, making sure she stayed tucked and warm, then stepped toward the alley beside the shop. Gravel crunched underfoot, the sound oddly steadying in the quiet.
The scent of toast and fried eggs drifted down from above, edged with honey. He smiled faintly. Breakfast time.
Inside the workshop, slanting light from the high windows fell across worn benches, catching on bits of scattered metal and half-finished chains. Order made out of chaos. Felix stepped through the door, the wood giving a quiet creak beneath his boots.
Only Pavel was there, Chawa’s husband and the father of the six Klonimus brothers—shoulders broad, eyes narrowed in concentration, one hand holding a sliver of metal, the other guiding a chisel with precision.
He didn’t look up right away. “What are you doing here so early?” Gruff, yes—but not unkind. Never with him.
Felix shifted slightly, the movement drawing Pavel’s attention. “Ifound something,” he said. “Thought I’d show you all.”
Pavel’s eyes dropped to the tiny bundle as Felix loosened his coat. The puppy blinked once in sleep, unbothered.
“Anishumela,” Pavel murmured. The word curved softly off his tongue, old and full of affection—a little soul.
Felix smiled. It settled low in his chest, the kind of warmth he hadn’t felt in days. Not just the word, but the way Pavel said it—like it mattered.
The older man chuckled under his breath and wiped his hands on his apron. “The children are upstairs eating,” he said, though his gaze lingered on the puppy a moment longer.
Felix adjusted the wrap as she stirred, her nose nuzzling closer for warmth. “Thank you,” he said, stepping past the bench toward the narrow stairs in the corner.
They creaked as he climbed, the wood shifting under each step. The stairwell curved just enough to crowd him, the banister brushing his shoulder. With every turn, the smell of warm bread and strong coffee thickened, layered with the soft murmur of a house at ease.
At the top, he didn’t have to look for the dining room. He’d been here often enough to move as if he belonged. Then the noise met him—laughter, clinking cutlery, voices overlapping. Morning in full swing.
The Klonimuses, as usual, took up every inch of space at the long table, plates crowded with half-eaten food, mugs passed hand to hand. Gideon was laughing. Someone else was arguing about butter. Little Joseph, balanced dangerously on his chair, was wide-eyed and trying to keep up with the noise.
Felix paused at the threshold but the puppy wriggled in his arms.
“A puppy?!” Joseph shrieked, his pitch soaring above the room. His chair screeched back, and he launched himself toward Felix, arms already reaching.
“Yes! Truly?” came a lilting voice from the far side of the table.
Rosie, Gideon’s wife, leaned forward with careful eagerness, one hand braced on the swell of her belly as if to anchor herself. She didn’t rise, but she didn’t need to—the glow about her said everything. It softened her face, making her already luminous smile shine brighter. “Bring her closer, Felix, if you please.”
He stepped fully into the room, his mouth tugging into a smile as the ripple of delight spread around the table. The puppy yawned toward the noise, blinking slowly and bleary, her tiny paws stretching wide as she sniffed at the unfamiliar air. Joseph was practically buzzing beside him, teetering on the balls of his feet.
Felix crouched slightly, sheltering the little creature behind one hand. “She’s just waking up,” he told Joseph gently. “Give her a moment. She’s a little shy still.”
“What’s her name?” Joseph breathed, eyes round as saucers. He rocked back and forth, squeezing his hands against his chest like he might burst from holding in too much wonder. “She’s so small!”
“Little one,” Felix said.
“That’s not a name,” Gideon replied dryly. “That’s an observation.”
But even he couldn’t quite keep the affection from his face as he leaned in for a better look.
Rosie let out a soft laugh, her fingers tapping the rim of her plate. “Wherever did you find her, Felix? She’s no bigger than a teacup.”
“She was in a crate at the apothecary,” he said, rising again and shifting the puppy higher against his chest. “Alfie and I found her there.”
