They say a man is awake before dawn for three reasons: he’s a farmer, he’s a thief, or he is shouldering a heavy burden. Al wasn’t a farmer. Nor was he a thief, though that would change in the coming weeks. He lay in bed awake, counting the minutes by, because he had set his workplace on fire.

Al had let a bad morning sour his mood, progressing to a climax of rage that was normally impotent in him. He was not a man to yell or swear, and definitely not one to lash out physically. He had punched a wall, which in turn knocked a lamp over. That lamp had crashed to the floor, spilling the oil onto the concrete. It had caught fire. What had happened after that point, Al didn’t know.

Any other man with dignity and a cool head would have yelled for help, despite the consequences. Any hero possessing a backbone and quick wit would have figured out a way to put it out on his own. Al had stumbled backwards out the door and briskly walked home, refusing to look back.

And so, he laid in bed wondering. He had slipped into a twilight rest for a few hours, but woke with paralyzing fear while it was still dark outside. Knowing he wouldn’t find slumber again, he tried distracting himself by reading. First, he tried a dry volume on the political infighting of the Miatosh, a civilization long salvaged for its best and broken by its worst. It hadn’t worked. He moved on to an Arvonnese alley novel, a guilty pleasure he had picked up years ago. It reminded him too much of how he should have acted. He blew out the candles just as the sky began to gray with dawn and weighed his options.

There were two: go to work or stay home. Al like the idea of staying home. He could read, take care of Marnie, and go for a walk. Most importantly, he wouldn’t have to face his mistake and his cowardice. The problem was, if by some miracle his work was still intact, he would be missing a day of pay. Two days in a row would wreck his finances for the month, never mind his reputation as a hardworking employee.

To work, then. Tired and more than frazzled, Al set off to find out how colossal his blunder had been. He changed out of his bed clothes, brushed his teeth, then checked on Marnie. She was awake and standing in the doorway of the bedroom, having climbed out of the trundle. Al picked her up and played with her, pretending to pull his thumb off his hand. She loved that. It was her favorite thing that he did with her. Al was a wizard, but Marnie was the only person who actually made him feel magical.

He put Marnie back to bed, being careful not to disturb Burdet. She was still sleeping off a night out with her co-workers, or whatever she had said she was doing. Marnie was well behaved and snuggled under the covers, falling asleep quickly without making any noise. He kissed her on the head before leaving for work.

Al’s lack of sleep became more apparent when he stepped out into the morning light. His eyes were sandy and he kept scratching them. He felt sluggish and hindered. Most adults can chalk up a restless night as an unpleasant thing that happens once in awhile, but Al hadn’t had a bad’s night rest in almost a decade. Not even in school, not even with a baby in the house. It greatly affected his work as a wizard and he didn’t tolerate sleepless nights well.

He walked automatically to Mrs. Gorgent’s bakery, always his first stop for a loaf of bread.

“It’s fresh for you, love,” she said, winking.

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He thanked her and paid, moving the stole he wore for his job out of the way to make room for the bread.

“You’re a wizard?” she asked, sounding somewhat delighted at the idea. “My nephew is a wizard, just graduated as a Green.” She gave him a broad smile. “And here I thought you were a ledgerer or an attorney, something along those lines. All this time and you could have been baking my bread in five seconds!” She laughed and shook her head, placing his change in his hand.

“It doesn’t really work like that,” Al said a moment before he realized she had been joking. He smiled weakly and waved as he walked out the door.

He tried to let the awkward embarrassment go and made his normal rounds. He bought a cucumber and a tomato from the vendor on the corner of Lark and Ansingtorn, a wedge of cheese from a delicatessen further down Lark, and lastly his breakfast, a fresh nut and jam pastry from the patisserie a few blocks from work.

Al coasted through everything and realized it was the same as it was almost every day. “Good morning, sir. Glad to see you here again. The same?” Sometimes he took comfort in the fact that he was recognized and treated more congenially. Mostly, though, the thought of having the same routine until the day he died both saddened and frightened him.

Al still sat in his normal bench and ate his pastry quickly, licking the sticky raspberry off of his fingers. He breathed in the morning air, just starting to fill with the sounds of people waking and beginning their morning chores. There was nothing amiss, no lingering stench of burned wood or people talking loudly about the fire downtown. A good sign.

He kept his head down until he reached the end of Lark and stood on the corner. Al slowly raised his head, opened one eye, then the other. It was still there. The business of Jindahl and Stohr still stood without so much as a nail out of place. Al took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He felt the mixed emotions of a man who felt relief that he could meet his needs, but disappointment that he couldn’t meet his wants.

Al crossed the busy intersection, weaving through the foot traffic and occasional horse-drawn carriage. Any self-respecting urbanite could do it blindfolded, hobbled, and through a foot of snow with ease, but it always brought a state of anxiety to the wizard. He held his breath and pressed through, hoping a runaway cart wasn’t about to plow him over.

His morning routine finished when he brushed his fingers across the plastered railing. Al had determined some years ago that the exterior color of his workplace was hideous, but only to him. Hundreds of people walked past the business every day and probably didn’t think twice about the slightly warmed light orange color. It was a signal that the business was inviting and safe, that you could come in for several kinds of chaste and pleasing services. If you weren’t interested in anything Jindahl and Stohr had to offer, you went about your day and forgot about the shop.

But Al couldn’t forget. He worked there. He knew all the little imperfections inside and out. He knew the potted hedges needed a trim and the paint on the shutters, hung around the windows to make the business look like a home, were peeling badly. It bothered him that no one else took a few seconds to fix the problems. Or, at the very least, paint the walls any other color than high-society, calling card peach.

“Hi, Al,” the two women at the front desk said in unison. They quickly went back to writing, their quills scratching the parchment.

“Ladies,” he said pleasantly with a nod of his head as he walked past to his office. There was a sheet tacked to the door. He glanced at it quickly, then twisted the key into the lock.

“Oh, Al,” one of the secretary’s interjected, beckoning him over. “I just wanted to let you know that the little thing with yesterday…it won’t happen again.”

“It’s…all right. I’d already forgotten about it,” he said as he stepped inside. He hadn’t, of course, but Al wasn’t about to get into it with Peni and Taritha. His schedule was almost full and it made up for the wages he had lost the day before due to their incompetence. People made mistakes. They’d make another and it would cost him, again. And, as he usually did, he’d smile weakly and pretend like it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t react like he had. You only got that lucky once.