Once every two months, the matrons lined up the children in the courtyard for the shears.

It was always the same. Quick, harsh cuts. No care. No questions.

But afterward, Rael would gather their group behind the garden shed with a mirror shard and comb she’d stolen. There, she’d fix it.

She trimmed Caeli’s bangs gently. Cleaned up Mirae’s uneven ends. Tied Lira’s hair with soft string. And when it came to Akari, she asked first.

“Do you want it short this time?”

He always shook his head. He liked it long. It felt like something he got to choose.

So Rael helped him braid it, and Lira whispered about spirits that lived in strands—“the longer the hair, the more wishes they can hold.”

Akari never wished for anything out loud. But afterward, he always tucked the braid into his hoodie like a charm.