Tip. Tap. Tip-tip. Tap.
Rain was tapping at Lunai's window, the way it did on the coziest evenings. His hoodie was warm. His tea was warm. The lamp made a small gold circle on the floor.
Outside, the lanterns of Meowelo came on one by one. Lunai counted them. One. Two. Three.
Then he stopped counting.
There was a fourth light, far down the lane, and it was not a lantern.
Lunai's tummy did a small flutter. A thought arrived quickly: something strange is out there.
He looked again. He knew the lane. He knew the flower shop. He knew three lanterns.
He did not know the fourth light.
"I don't know what it is," Lunai whispered to the window.
The rain went on tapping. Not knowing, Lunai thought, was not the same as knowing something was wrong.