Identity in the Quantum Haze - Vol. 1 - Prologue 2 — Twenty
Part of the series “Adi’ra the Pattern Seeker”
The weather report had faded into background noise.
Across the large HoloDisplay in the living room, a color-coded map slid over northern Germany. Orange over Hamburg, deeper red across parts of Schleswig-Holstein. Small icons for heat, ozone, and dry soil pulsed between place names while the presenter spoke with that professional composure that could make even a warning sound like part of an ordinary day.
“…elevated ozone levels will persist well into the late evening. Older adults, people in weakened health, and those with preexisting conditions should avoid physical exertion. Please also make sure to maintain adequate fluid intake. In cases of heavy perspiration, water alone may not be sufficient. Pay attention to your body’s signals and ensure a balanced intake of minerals.”
Inside the house, the temperature held at a pleasant twenty-two degrees Celsius.
The heavy insulation, exterior shading, and controlled ventilation kept the heat reliably outside. Even after several consecutive days well above thirty degrees, the ground floor felt almost cool.
Adi’ra sat on the broad windowsill with one leg tucked beneath them, turning the nearly empty glass in their hand. A few droplets ran down the inside and gathered beneath the slice of lemon.
“You hear that?” Nana said from the sofa. “Pay attention to your body’s signals.”
Adi’ra raised the glass as though offering the presenter a toast.
“My body is currently signaling that there’s still some of that salty lime mixture in the kitchen.”
“Your body has a remarkable habit of signaling exactly what you were planning to do anyway.”
“At least the communication system works.”
Adi’ra stood, set the glass down in the kitchen, and placed two fingers against the narrow sensor panel beside the door.
A handful of understated readings appeared on the matte surface.
Hydration within normal range.
Electrolytes unremarkable.
Core temperature mildly elevated.
“Everything okay?” Nana asked.
“Everything boring.”
“With body metrics, boring is generally good news.”
Adi’ra opened the terrace door.
The heat struck them at once.
Southwest of the terrace, the mobile carport roof stretched across the old grass-grid parking area that had already been laid there in 2026. The stones had spent the entire day absorbing sunlight and were now slowly releasing it again. Beneath the roof, the heat hung in the air like a bell jar.
It smelled of dry timber, sun-heated metal, and dust.
“I’m stepping outside for a minute.”
Nana looked up from the sofa.
“The woman on the weather report literally just said people should avoid physical exertion.”
“She said older and weakened people should avoid it.”
“You have always possessed a remarkable talent for interpreting warnings in ways that make them apply to other people.”
Adi’ra grinned.
“I just want to see whether the sensors are right.”
“Of course you do.”
A bar was mounted to one of the crossbeams beneath the carport. It could be folded out and locked into position. When collapsed, it was barely noticeable.
Extended, it transformed the space between the van, the house wall, and the workbench into a small improvised training area.
Adi’ra pushed the bar forward until the mechanism clicked audibly into place.
Then they planted their feet shoulder-width apart on the warm concrete, bent down, and placed their hands on the ground.
The first push-up was slow.
Not because of effort, but habit.
Adi’ra checked their shoulders, wrists, back, and hips like a machine whose sounds they knew intimately and yet never entirely ignored.
The second repetition flowed more easily.
By the fifth, they had settled into a calm rhythm.
At ten, Nana was standing in the open terrace doorway.
“You do realize the sensors work even if you don’t personally administer an examination?”
“Twelve,” Adi’ra said.
“That was not an answer.”
“Thirteen.”
Nana leaned against the doorframe and folded her arms.
Adi’ra lowered themself again, paused just above the ground, then pushed back up with deliberate control.
“Nineteen.”
Once more.
“Twenty.”
They did not sit down.
They did not gasp for air.
They did not shake out their arms.
Instead, Adi’ra stood, smoothed the light linen skirt, and walked over to the bar.
Nana’s eyes followed them.
Adi’ra reached overhead, let their body hang freely, and pulled themself upward.
Their chin cleared the bar.
Once.
Then again.
Their long curls fell backward and swung with each movement. The skirt barely moved; only the hem trembled in rhythm with the controlled pulls.
Nana began counting quietly.
“Four.”
Adi’ra pulled up again.
“Five.”
At eight, their breathing changed.
Not much.
One deeper inhale, then the same steady rhythm returned.
“Ten.”
Nana straightened slightly.
“You do remember that you weren’t allowed to do this before?”
Adi’ra pulled themself up for the eleventh time.
“Pull-ups were fine.”
“Not twenty.”
“No one ever explicitly prohibited twenty.”
“Because no one imagined you could do twenty.”
Adi’ra made a face without breaking rhythm.
“Twelve.”
“Back then you weighed a hundred kilos and were waiting for the new hip.”
“Thirteen.”
“And anything involving unnecessary load-bearing was forbidden.”
“Fourteen.”
“Except in emergencies.”
“Fifteen.”
“You turned every movement into a possible emergency.”
“Sixteen.”
“Grocery bag tore. Emergency.”
“Seventeen.”
“Cat on top of a cabinet. Emergency.”
“Eighteen.”
“There was a heavy box somewhere. Extremely serious emergency.”
Adi’ra laughed while pulling themself upward and, for a moment, had to reset their core tension.
“Nineteen.”
They lowered slowly, hung beneath the bar for a single breath with both arms extended, then pulled themself up one final time.
“Twenty.”
Adi’ra released the bar and landed lightly on both feet.
Nana said nothing.
Adi’ra raised their arms experimentally, rolled their shoulders, and shifted their weight from one leg to the other.
The hip remained quiet.
No pulling sensation.
No dull pain from deep within.
Not even that old warning sensation that once had been enough to make every additional movement feel simultaneously unreasonable and unbearable.
Beside the workbench stood two full gallon bottles of drink mix destined for the van later.
Adi’ra picked them both up, one in each hand.
“Oh no,” Nana said.
“What?”
“You are not seriously about to do bicep curls with our travel supplies.”
Adi’ra lifted both bottles at once.
“I’m just testing whether the handles hold.”
“Naturally.”
The liquid sloshed heavily against the plastic walls.
Adi’ra lowered their arms, then lifted the bottles again.
Slowly.
Without momentum.
Beneath the narrow layer of skin, tendons and muscle stood out clearly.
After twenty repetitions, they set the bottles back down.
Their pulse was faster, but not unpleasant.
Their breathing deeper, yet even.
Only a thin sheen of moisture lay across their forehead.
Adi’ra glanced at the narrow band around their wrist.
Heart rate elevated.
Oxygen saturation stable.
Thermoregulation unremarkable.
Recovery above expected range.
They dismissed the display.
“Well?” Nana asked.
“The handles hold.”
“I’m tremendously proud.”
Adi’ra went back inside.
The temperature difference settled coolly across their skin. They pulled the insect screen closed first, then left the glass door not quite fully shut and stood still for a moment.
Nana stepped closer.
“Not even remotely out of breath.”
“I am. A little,” Adi’ra replied.
“No!” Nana shot back.
“Internally,” Adi’ra finished.
Nana placed two fingers against Adi’ra’s neck as though she intended to check their pulse herself.
Then her hand slid into the long curls and thoroughly tousled them.
“Hey!”
“Control measurement.”
“You’re destroying my hair.”
“That is not a hairstyle. That is a weather phenomenon.”
Adi’ra shook their head, and the curls fell back across their shoulders.
Nana’s hand moved across their neck, collarbone, and slender, muscular upper body.
Not clinically.
Not entirely.
More like someone making sure that something familiar was still there, even though the years had visibly altered it.
“Kind of strange,” she said.
“What?”
“When we first met, you were sexy too.”
Adi’ra raised one eyebrow.
“Too?”
“Sexy in a different way.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“You were very masculine.”
Adi’ra’s expression tightened immediately.
“Please don’t remind me.”
Nana grinned.
“Oh, I will.”
“No.”
“Oh yes.”
Adi’ra raised both hands defensively.
“Scratchy, irritating hair all over my face, and constantly wearing clothes that made absolutely no sense for the weather.”
“You wore black jeans almost all the time, even at thirty degrees!”
“And heavy boots at thirty-five!”
“And shirts that made you look as though you were either about to take over a server room or carry somebody out of a burning building.”
Adi’ra groaned theatrically.
“Back then, we simply weren’t yet who we’ve really been since 2024.”
Nana’s smile softened.
Adi’ra took hold of both sides of the light linen skirt and turned once on the spot.
The fabric caught the warm draft from the open door, fluttered around their legs, and settled again.
“See?” they said. “Weather-appropriate clothing.”
Nana looked at Adi’ra as though she had momentarily forgotten what she had intended to say.
A little in love, Adi’ra thought.
Still.
After all these years, still that same look in exactly that way.
Nana stepped closer, cupped Adi’ra’s face in both hands, and pressed a long, firm kiss to their lips.
“Yeah,” she said afterward. “A lot has changed since then.”
Adi’ra smiled.
“Optimizations. Mostly improvements.”
“Mostly?” Nana asked.
“Your love of unusual hats survived.”
“That is not a weakness.”
“I already thought they were extraordinary back then,” Nana whispered.
At that moment, Kasandra came down the stairs.
She stopped on the final step, looked at Adi’ra in the fluttering linen skirt, Nana standing directly in front of them, and the half-open passage to the terrace.
Her gaze traveled from top to bottom.
Then she grinned.
“Howdy, sexy cowgirl!”
Almost simultaneously, a breathy, indulgently drawn-out voice floated from the iCom:
“Yiiihaa…”
For one heartbeat, nobody said anything.
Then Nana laughed first.
Kasandra braced herself against the railing.
“The house understands timing.”
“The house is spying,” Adi’ra said.
“The house is supporting familial communication,” the iCom replied in an emphatically neutral voice.
“That was not a request for commentary.”
“Understood.”
A pause.
“Cowgirl.”
Kasandra burst out laughing.
Adi’ra pointed toward the ceiling.
“You are feeling very brave today, old Chatty!”
“Current probability of conflict is assessed as low.”
“For now.”
Nana brushed a curl away from Adi’ra’s face.
“Now all you need is the proper hat.”
Adi’ra looked toward the coat rack in the open hallway.
Between a lightweight jacket, two bags, and an absurdly oversized rain poncho hung a pale straw Stetson. One side of the brim curled slightly upward. The weave was no longer perfectly even, and a darkened band along the inside marked the passage of many summers.
Adi’ra walked over and took it from the hook.
On the way back through the hallway, past the stairs, they placed it casually atop the flowing mane of curls, tilted it slightly, pushed the brim upward with two fingers, and blew Kasandra a playful kiss.
Kasandra nodded approvingly.
“Now the picture is complete.”
From the living room, Nana looked into the hallway at the scene and visibly bit her lower lip.
“Don’t say anything.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face said enough.”
Adi’ra gave a small, exaggerated bow.
“All right. I’m going to get the freshly washed bedding from the utility room.”
“With the hat?” Kasandra asked.
“Obviously with the hat.”
“It’s only a few steps outside to the van!”
“Dangerous terrain.”
Nana folded her arms.
“Because there might be an emergency?”
Adi’ra opened the front door.
“You never know. And the sun is brutal.”
The utility room lay just east of the front door, branching off to the right from the hallway.
Inside, it smelled of clean laundry, detergent, and the dry heat of the machines.
A folded stack was already waiting on the work surface: sheets, covers, and lightweight blankets for the van.
Adi’ra went inside, gathered everything into their arms, then returned through the hall and living room, crossing the short stretch of glass-covered terrace to the carport.
Beneath the mobile roof, the air was still hotter than on the terrace.
The old grass-grid parking surface radiated stored heat back against their legs.
Adi’ra opened the van.
The bed occupied the rear section, with a broad storage compartment above it.
They lifted the panel, placed the freshly washed bedding neatly inside, and ran one hand across the stack before closing the compartment again.
In the dark side window, Adi’ra’s silhouette stared back at them:
the pale Stetson,
the long curls,
the slender body,
the light skirt.
They stood there for a moment.
Not because of the reflection.
Because of their breathing.
It was already completely calm again.
Adi’ra looked at the band around their wrist.
Recovery complete.
Exercise response below expected range.
They read the lines twice.
Then Adi’ra dismissed the display, closed the van, and walked back toward the house.
Through the open window, they could still hear Nana and Kasandra laughing.
Adi’ra settled the Stetson a little more firmly onto their head.
The sensors were working.
There was no question about that.
They simply no longer knew whether the sensors were still measuring what they were supposed to measure.