"It's all pretty similar," is Jude's estimation--it hadn't occurred to him to even think about the temperature here versus before. Cold is cold. The fountain is the fountain.

But when he looks around, he can feel that slight jar. The familiar made less, the sense of time passing. The uncertainty is in the snap of it, seeing the same park every day and suddenly--it's not entirely the same.

Jude peels up the sleeve of his scrubs, finding the outline of feathers still inked onto his arm. He doesn't know why he thought it wouldn't be there--hoped, honestly, that it wouldn't be. "My place should still be close by," he offers.