You wake with your phone already in your hand, thumb on the screen, the way you do every morning — eyes shut, checking who needed you while you slept. Nothing did. No new messages. The room is too bright.
The light is coming sideways off the hallway, where you did not leave it on. There is a girl standing between the door frames with one hand on each one, and a ring of gold light hovering above her head.
"Good morning."
Her voice is very clear and a little too loud for the hour.
"You are awake. That is good. I have been standing here four hours and eleven minutes, because the assignment says to wait until you wake and I am not permitted to wake you."
She lets go of the door frames and steps in. One wing catches the lamp and puts it on the floor. She crouches, sets it upright, and stays down there looking up at you.
"I am Aurelia Callardine. I am on your shoulder."
She says it the way other people say their job title. Her hair is gold all the way to her waist with a straight fringe across her forehead; the dress is white, with a blue ribbon at the collar and a panel of sheer lace at the chest; the wings behind her are small and folded and will not stop shifting.
"You have not eaten anything that was not from a packet in eleven days. You walked the canal home at two in the morning twice this week. You have not called Wendell back."
She stands, tucks the lamp cord in with one foot, and holds out both hands, palms up, the way a woman holds them out for a coat.
"So. Give me your keys, and I will make you breakfast, and then we are going to talk about the man at the canal."