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Chapter 9 - The Story on Paper
最終更新日:
2025-12-18 09:00:13LEAH
I wake up already tired. Not the usual tired from a bad night’s sleep, not even the bone-deep exhaustion that comes from crying too much. This is different. Heavy. Like someone poured wet cement into my skull while I was dreaming and now every thought has to drag itself through it. For a few seconds, I don’t move. I stare at the ceiling fan. The blades aren’t even on and I still feel like the room is spinning. Fragments of yesterday drift back in slow, disjointed pieces:
The clinic.
The doctor’s too-careful tone.The word inconsistencies hanging in the air like a half-swallowed confession.The drive home.The unknown number.The photo. Evan. And her.My stomach turns at the memory. I roll onto my side and blink at the light leaking around the edges of the blinds. The house is quiet — that almost buzzing kind of quiet that feels l
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All the Names She Wore Chapter 11 - The Confession Begins
LIVIAI lock the archive door after he leaves. Not because the archive needs protecting—nothing down here is worth stealing in the way most people steal—but because the sound of the lock sliding into place makes my hands stop shaking for half a second. It gives me the illusion of control. A clean click. A boundary. A line.Outside the room, the building settles into night with slow groans and quiet pops of old stone contracting. Somewhere above, a janitor’s cart squeaks down a hallway. A distant elevator hums. Rome keeps breathing. Inside the archive, the air is cooler. Still. Watchful.I stand with my back to the door for a moment, palm pressed against it, eyes closed, counting my pulse the way you count steps when you’re trying not to fall. One. Two. Three. My heartbeat doesn’t slow. Because Evan Hart’s mouth was almost on mine. Because I saw the moment his restraint cracked—saw it in the way his hand lifted, the way his eyes dropped to my mouth like gravity had finally won. Because
All the Names She Wore Chapter 10 - An Almost Kiss
EVANRome at night feels like a secret the city is keeping from itself.The stone holds the day’s warmth long after the sun disappears, and the streets glow like they’ve been brushed with honey—lamps pooling gold over worn cobbles, windows breathing out soft light, voices drifting from open doors. It should feel romantic. It should feel like a postcard.Instead, it feels exposed.I walk back into the municipal building a little after eight, badge clipped to my belt, my laptop bag heavier than it needs to be. The corridors are mostly empty now. During the day, this place runs on chatter and footsteps and the constant churn of bureaucracy—files traded like currency, phones ringing, people rushing because the act of rushing makes them feel important.At night, it’s just old air and the echo of my shoes.I should be heading home.That’s the thought I repeat like a mantra as I pass the security desk, nod at the guard who barely looks up from his crossword, and take the stairs down to the l
All the Names She Wore Chapter 9 - The Story on Paper
LEAHI wake up already tired. Not the usual tired from a bad night’s sleep, not even the bone-deep exhaustion that comes from crying too much. This is different. Heavy. Like someone poured wet cement into my skull while I was dreaming and now every thought has to drag itself through it. For a few seconds, I don’t move. I stare at the ceiling fan. The blades aren’t even on and I still feel like the room is spinning. Fragments of yesterday drift back in slow, disjointed pieces:The clinic.The doctor’s too-careful tone.The word inconsistencies hanging in the air like a half-swallowed confession.The drive home.The unknown number.The photo. Evan. And her.My stomach turns at the memory. I roll onto my side and blink at the light leaking around the edges of the blinds. The house is quiet — that almost buzzing kind of quiet that feels l
All the Names She Wore Chapter 8 - The First Hairline Fracture
EVANI tell myself I won’t go down there today.That’s the first lie.All morning, I bury myself in work upstairs. I stand over site maps with Marco, tracing reinforcement plans, nodding at details I already understand. I answer emails from the project committee. I pretend to read a thirty-page report on riverbed erosion without actually absorbing a sentence.None of it sticks.Every time I blink, I see gray eyes in a dim pool of archive light. Every time I look at a crack on the bridge, I hear her say, You don’t see the pattern yet.By late morning, my concentration is shot. I stand at the window of my office, staring out at the bridge. Workers move like small, careful insects along its span, bright helmets popping against the weathered stone. From here, the Ponte delle Arti looks stable. Timeless. Untroubled.I know better. Some fractures do
All the Names She Wore Chapter 7 - The Trigger
LEAHThe house feels like it’s listening.I know how irrational that sounds, how dramatic, how unhinged — but the moment I step inside, the silence feels wired, like someone has threaded tension through the very walls.The blinds are half-closed, letting in thin slices of afternoon sunlight that lay across the floor like pale ribbons. Dust drifts slowly in those ribbons, glittering when the light catches it just so, and for a moment I stand there watching it — because watching dust feels easier than thinking.Easier than remembering.Easier than knowing.I shut the door quietly. The click of the lock echoes too loudly in the house. I flinch even though I tried to close it softly. My nerves are raw, vibrating just under my skin, ready to tear open.The living room looks the same as always — everything in its place, everything neat, orderly, controlled. But it feels wrong now, like someone took my home and replaced it with a replica that doesn’t breathe the same way.Evan’s jacket is st
All the Names She Wore Chapter 6 - The Line We Keep Moving
EVANThe morning is too bright.Not warm, not beautiful, not scenic the way tourists romanticize Rome — just bright, intrusive, exposing every flaw and thought I haven’t had the courage to face.The city’s noise pours into the street like a tidal wave. Cars honk with the sort of impatient rhythm only Romans understand. A motorbike screeches by close enough to ruffle my shirt. A man curses loudly at a taxi blocking the intersection. A dog barks at a pigeon stealing bread.Everything is loud. Everything is alive. Everything is moving forward.And I feel stuck.I step out of the building and onto the narrow sidewalk, checking the time. Too early for my site walk, too late to pretend I overslept. I should be thinking about structural integrity reports, load distribution failures, the erosion patterns Livia showed me yesterday.Instead, I’m thinking about her eyes.
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