Caeli liked birds. She fed them crumbs when no one was looking.

Akari once found her standing on the windowsill, whispering to a crow like it was her best friend. He froze, panic clawing up his chest. One slip. One push. The window was too high.

“Caeli,” he said gently, arms outstretched. “Come back, it’s not safe there.”

She turned, barefoot and smiling, flower crown tangled in her hair. “But he likes the songs. I think he remembers them.”

He approached slowly. One step at a time.

“If you fall, you’ll never get to teach him the next verse,” he murmured.

She blinked. Then laughed and hopped down into his arms.

Later, when he tucked her into bed, she whispered, “Do you think crows remember their siblings too?”

He didn’t answer.

But he stayed by her side until she slept.