Chapter Twenty
The morning air hit Felix like a clean slate. The street still held onto the dark, the dawn reluctant to warm its edges. He pulled his coat tighter with one hand, the other holding the pup close beneath the fold.
He hummed without thinking, a tune that came and went like breath. Vienna. He’d heard it a hundred times growing up, but the words had long since scattered. That unsettled him more than he liked. What else had he forgotten, or left behind without meaning to?
Maisie came to his mind. Always her, waiting behind stray thoughts.
The puppy stirred a little, curling tighter into the warmth of his chest. Her small body breathed in a rhythm that calmed his own, as if she understood this was a fragile sort of morning.
When he stepped onto the cobbled path, his boots brushed against slick patches where dew clung to the stones. The city hadn’t quite woken. There was a hush to it—not silence exactly, but that in-between quiet just before life picked up again.
He turned toward the small patch of grass near the practice—the one sunlight reached first. The melody he’d been humming returned, stubborn and unfinished. Somewhere, bells rang the hour. Seven. Softer here than at Karlskirche, but the echo pulled at something inside him all the same.
He crouched beside the puppy and placed her gently on the grass. One hand stayed close, palm hovering near her back.
She blinked at the world, tilting her head, ears flopping slightly. Then she looked up at him, wide-eyed, uncertain.
“Don’t you need to do anything here?”
Tentatively, she scraped the toe of his boot with a whimper, like she wanted permission.
But nothing came out.
“Think of rain.”
With her big brown eyes, she just stared up at him.
“River bends. Waterfalls. Ocean waves?”
Nothing.
“Well, I can hardly show you what to do!”
She bent down and picked up her tiny front paws, one at a time, as if to tell him that the wet grass was pricking her delicate soles.
“A small creek, perhaps? Or drops trickling from leaves?”
She squealed and clumsily came to the tip of his boot and scraped it.
Felix chuckled lightly, the sound low but kind. “Alright, I’ll carry you,” he said, scooping her up again. “But you have to tell me when it’s time to find a patch of grass, please.” She settled almost instantly, her face burying itself against the warmth of his chest beneath his open coat.
“You know, one day, when you’re much bigger, you’ll have to do things on the grass, alright? And then we’ll run together.”
He smiled faintly at the idea. A gentleman wouldn’t, of course—but he’d never been one. Not in the way that counted. Thus, he could run and exercise as much as he wanted—where else could the pent-up energy go otherwise?
He took a breath, filling his lungs with the crisp air.
“Just at the birth of a new day, the air is freshest. And if we wake up before six o’clock, it’s the vata time in Ayurveda.
I learned about this in India. It’s far away, but it was worth going.
” He hesitated, voice quieter. “Coming back was the hard part. I lost someone very dear while I was away.” His fingers brushed the pup’s tiny back, holding her closer.
“In fact, I came home to find her name gone. Her place swept clean.”
Like she’d never been real.
But this wasn’t something to burden a little creature with. She barely filled the crook of his arm. He kept walking. “So, what I’m trying to teach you is that rising early aligns with the rhythms of the world. Helps you breathe clearer. Think straighter.”
The puppy didn’t stir.
“One day, when you don’t need to nap after every meal, you’ll run early in the morning with me, alright?”
He paused, catching himself.
“You’re just a baby, though, aren’t you?”
So had he been—when he thought skill alone could excuse what he’d done. When he used the gold-in-porcelain on Alfie without asking. As if excellence meant permission. As if being right was enough.
The street stretched ahead, empty but for the long cast of his shadow. He let his feet choose the way.
Once the puppy slept again, her breath came warm against his chest, a delicate weight tucked beneath his coat. Felix kept walking, each step measured, the cold brushing his face, loosening the restless knots that hadn’t left him since he woke.
“I’ll teach you to run really fast with me one day,” he murmured, glancing down at the tiny dog. She’d slipped back into sleep, her face slack with dreams, her paws limp in the makeshift muslin swaddle he’d tied awkwardly but snugly against his chest.
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 conversation hushed.
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. “I found 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.
“A nishumela,” 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.”