Windows down, the radio playing something old and forgotten. The smell of salt on her skin and chips in her hair. Her head heavy against the seatbelt as the last light of the day faded, and the first stars appeared over the rolling green hills.

And as if on cue, they heard the sound. A soft click . Mum was closing her empty suitcase, getting ready to go back to the ship.

Her father, a man who fixed clocks for a living, had tapped the barometer on the wall. “Officially? June twenty-first. But here? Summer is when we stop waiting for the sun and decide to enjoy the rain instead.”

Elara had thought that was a very silly answer.

And in the United Kingdom, that was exactly the right time for it.