Jinai’s neighbours weren’t immersed in the world of sailing, but the sport was big enough in Wulien that even they were aware that they were living in the same block as some sort of niche celebrity.

Or at least, that was how it felt on some days. As she pedalled her bicycle out from under the stairs and into the morning, a crocheted shopping bag slung over a shoulder, she passed Zilu from the unit downstairs watering her garlic and rosemary trough. At the sound of the bicycle clattering past she lifted her head with a holler of, “Saw you in the news—you’re doing a smashing job out there!”

“Thank you, Madam Zilu!” she shouted back, pedalling faster. Getting congratulated on the way to groceries, totally normal people things! She flew down the streets with the wind in her hair—it wasn’t the same as sailing, but it brought a similar joy.

She swerved off the side street where the corner store was nestled. As she zipped past, she noticed Sumare—the Niro-in youth who had only just left their parents’ fold—hastily handing change to a customer. They glanced up as she screeched to a halt, hailing her with a huge grin.

“Sumare!” Jinai called back, using some of her braking momentum to leap off the seat, then kicking the stand into place behind her.

It was over small talk with Sumare—as small as the talk could be when shouted across the shelves while picking out ingredients—that Jinai learned that the interviews had gone into the papers this morning. Wulien Morning Herald, Wulien Sun, Helfi Daily, all of them had either placed reporters in the room or bought the reports from other outlets.

She looked over her shoulder at the racks of papers by the entrance, among the bouquets, sprigs of bluebells and roses draped over them. She shuddered.

“It sounds like you’re all fired up and ready for those finals,” the cashier said.

Jinai fished around in the crate of carrots. “They must have made me sound surer than I actually am,” she answered. “But two weeks isn’t a whole lot, considering the length of the race. The finals are on a whole different scale from the quals, and there’s no way to practice the entire course.”

“Ooh, how long’s the thing again?” Sumare had started sorting the keyrings that hung from a grid frame on the counter. The softglass animals and metal chains jangled.

Jinai had gathered some carrots and potatoes in her shopping bag. Now to pick out a pack of raw chicken from the cooler shelves. “Nine hundred and thirty miles in ideal conditions,” she replied. “The first two legs are three hundred and seventy, the third is half that.”

“What!” they slapped a hand on the countertop. “That’s wild…and you do that in what, five days? I don’t think I even bike that far in a month!”

“Three days, ideally,” she answered. “You’d be surprised at how fast the wind carries you out at sea. And when we get to that last leg, with Threads…” She sighed as, for moments, all she saw was the rush of clouds over the sail, the hydrofoil skimming the blue water below. Then reached the counter and laid her groceries down. “Just these, please.”

Sumare sifted through the items in the bag and punched figures into their calculator. “Thirty-two kwai,” they replied, and Jinai palmed out the exact change, slapping it onto the counter. “Thanks, and best of luck to you!”

“You too,” she replied. She had a feeling she would need that luck sooner rather than later.

Now Jinai sat in the velvet backseat of a taxi carriage, the diesel engine chugging tirelessly while wheels clattered underfoot. The first thing she’d done after boarding had been to wind the windows down so the breeze swirled in. Outside in the night, streetlights and dim storefronts flashed by, occasionally marred by a pedestrian’s silhouette or a strain of nightlife music.

Just before she had left, her filograph had lit up with Anqien’s scrawl, telling her they’d wait for her at the doors. With those words she had felt her heart leap into her throat at the thought of being seen in this dress.

She had dived into the depths of her bedroom closet in search of a rare outfit she still liked—one still unstained by the memory of her disastrous relationship. Snatching the silk corner of a hem, she had dragged a dress from deep inside, like a sheaf out of a book, and held it in front of herself in the mirror: royal purple satin, with gems studding the bodice and sleeves, and a hem falling all the way to her ankles, split to the knee. Now she was halfway to the bistro, running nervous fingers over the fabric.

The last time she’d worn this had been six years ago. Before Josa, before the Niro-Helfi Race, before she’d fully known that this would someday come to be her life. How the days fleeted by.

In a blink, the streets had gone from dim to glowing, and it was almost impossible to miss that they were approaching the venue: the number of taxi carriages decreased and the fancy new rigs increased in number—gleaming, streamlined chrome hoods and invisible exhaust chimneys waiting their turn on every side street, like ants congregating around honey. Besides the sailors and officials, the exorbitant entry prices kept the less-than-wealthy outside the door.

On the edge of Muli Fish Market, facing the shopping district, towered a tapering building with a jutting steeple that had, in a previous life, been a temple to Ihir. It had since been converted—against the vehement wishes of the devout minority—into an upscale bistro, known across the country for serving the best fish in the land.

This was her destination. Jinai gazed up at the Nakano Bistro’s glitzy eaves as they pulled into its driveway: it had been made over, yet again, with floating Thread lights, stained glass crocuses and lilies glowing from within.

As the sound of ocean waves and drunken laughter tided in through the windows, she thought she saw the familiar shape of her teammate by its barricaded double doors, out of the reach of the queue. She hastily thanked her driver and placed the fare in his hand, eyes already trained on the figure and trying to make out more details. She flung the door open and flew out, shutting it with a click behind her.

Now the full glory of the night was around her, and it lit the gems in her dress, so she spun briefly—so rarely did she get to be even a little daft and unseen—then lifted the skirt and sprinted up the steps.

It was almost certainly Anqien by the door, she noted as they began towards her in a brisk walk. Their coat—a modern take on a traditional Li’un outer robe that she had seen them wear once or twice before—billowed behind them in lavender. They collided into a hug, two-thirds of the way up the stairs.

“Love the dress!” they exclaimed, stepping back. “I’ve never seen it before, is it new?”

She chortled. “No, but I don’t think I’ve worn it since we met, so fair guess,” she replied, touching the small of their back. From here they could see the white patterning on their coat, forming flowers and spirals like wind currents. “I always loved this coat, it looks great on you.”

“Oh, hah, thank you!” they said with a grin and a tweak of their sleeve, drawing in a deep breath—during which the boom of the music became suddenly noticeable, rumbling through her feet. Their smile looked more nervous than before. “Let’s, head inside?”

With a nod to each other, they started towards the door. They never had to produce invitations, and it was the same this time—the bouncers took one look at them and nodded, one waving them into the inner sanctum while the other tapped the headsets in their ear.