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CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE - LESSON TWO

Penulis: Miranda Miley
last update Terakhir Diperbarui: 2026-01-01 10:06:35

His Point of View

I leave her before the dream can thin any further.

Not because it is unsafe, but because it is the only place where function does not dictate me.

The weave does not record what passes there. No thread tightens. No balance reacts. What occurred between us leaves no mark that can be traced.

What leaves no record does not matter.

What it leads me to do does.

It lingered longer than it should have. Not the contact itself. That was gone the moment I withdrew.

It was the recognition. That quiet, dangerous sense of alignment that has no place in something like me.

I was not made to be met that way, and she should never have to become what being close to me would require.

So I lock myself back into distance. Into precision. Into the role I cannot afford to step out of.

Time resumes its ordinary crawl. Morning breaks. Threads move. Lives continue, unaware of what was almost allowed to matter.

Nora goes to the café and takes a seat near the window. The ba
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  • Claimed by Death    Chapter Forty-One — After

    Nora’s Point of ViewI wake on an inhale.Not startled. Not afraid.Just aware.Heat lingers low in my body, heavy and undeniable, as if my skin remembers something my mind is still trying to place in order. My sheets are twisted around my legs. My nightgown rides higher than it should. My breath is not calm.And the room is empty.That is the first thing I check.The air is still. The corners are quiet. The faint morning light slips through the blinds without resistance. No pressure hums at the edge of my perception. No presence stands just beyond the reach of sight.He is gone. Of course he is.Still, the absence does not erase what happened. It sits in me like a brand. Not pain. Not shame. A changedness I cannot soften.I stare at the ceiling for a long moment, waiting for my body to settle into normal. Waiting for the lingering sensations to fade the way dream-sensation always fades once daylight has the audacity to exist.It doesn’t.The memory doesn’t arrive as images at first.

  • Claimed by Death    Chapter Forty — The Pull

    Kieran’s Point of View I am not meant to feel direction when there is no work to do. When the system is quiet, I remain still. That has always been enough. Silence holds. Order hums. Time moves without requiring my attention. Tonight, nothing requires me. And yet I cannot settle. The sensation arrives without warning. Not urgency. Not command. A pressure, low and persistent, like a tide that does not ask permission before shifting the shore. It has direction. That is what stops me. I recognize threads when they tighten near death. I know the difference between fading and severing, between panic and surrender. This is neither. It is not pulling toward an ending. It is pulling toward presence. Toward her. I remain where I am, testing the feeling by refusing it. The pressure does not increase. It does not retreat. It simply waits, patient in a way that feels disturbingly personal. This has never happened before. Nora’s thread does not behave like the others. It never has. The

  • Claimed by Death    Chapter Thirty-Nine — Quiet Compliance

    Kieran’s Point of View I watch her. That is all I am permitted to do. The woman speaks in careful fragments, arranging moments as if they might align into meaning if placed precisely enough. A morning she almost called. An argument left unfinished. A small complaint dismissed because there was time later. The question circles without ever being spoken. Should I have known? Nora does not interrupt. She does not reach for the cards. Her hands remain folded loosely in her lap, still and composed. From the outside, it looks like restraint. Professional. Measured. Responsible. The woman’s grief presses into the space between them anyway. It lingers in posture and breath, in the way her shoulders stay slightly lifted as if bracing for impact that never arrives. The weight does not lessen simply because it is unaddressed. It only becomes quieter. I have seen this shape before. Guilt often disguises itself as responsibility. It convinces the grieving that suffering is prod

  • Claimed by Death    Chapter Thirty-Eight — Presence Without Pressure

    Nora’s Point of View After Lesson One, I told myself distance was wisdom. That stepping back entirely was restraint. I convinced myself that removing my hands from the scale was the most ethical choice I could make. If I could not be certain I wasn’t interfering, then the safest thing was not to touch anything at all. That explanation came after the fear. After the moment where I felt myself lean forward again. After I realized how easily certainty had begun to feel like permission. Lesson Two made the cost of that clarity unavoidable. For a while, the logic held. Distance worked. Silence worked. I told myself that the absence of harm was proof enough that I had chosen correctly. Then the messages began to accumulate. They weren’t desperate. That was what made them harder to ignore. Polite inquiries that opened with apologies. Gentle follow-ups that acknowledged I might not respond. People referred quietly by others who spoke of me with care rather than urgency. I recognized the

  • Claimed by Death    Chapter Thirty-Seven — Audit

    Kieran’s Point of View The weave does not knock. It does not announce itself the way mortals do, with sound and motion and the pretense of permission. It simply tightens, and the world becomes aware of its own accounting. I feel it before any place changes around me. A shift in weight. A pressure behind the ribs that is not pain, not emotion, not instinct. A measurement, turning its attention toward the variable that has always remained constant. Me. Time does not stop. It narrows. The street I stand on stays a street. The air remains air. But the space between moments draws taut, as if the world is being held still long enough for someone to examine what should never vary. I do not move. Stillness is not submission. Stillness is control. The weave tightens again, and I understand the nature of the summons. A review. Not of outcome. Of conduct. I let the pull take hold without resistance. Resistance would register as conflict. Conflict would register as motive. Motive wo

  • Claimed by Death    Chapter Thirty-Six — What Remains

    Nora’s Point of View I am awake before I realize it. Morning has already decided itself. Pale light presses at the edges of the room, gentle and uninsistent, as if the day knows better than to rush me. The clock hums quietly on the nightstand. A car passes outside. Ordinary sounds, already in motion. I sit up without thinking, sheets slipping away from my legs. There is no jolt of surprise. No instinct to search the air for remnants of a dream still clinging to the space. Just the steady awareness that something meaningful has already concluded. The room offers nothing back. No presence. No awareness. No sense of attention lingering where it doesn’t belong. That absence feels intentional. I rest my hands briefly on my knees and breathe, slow and steady, grounding myself in the weight of my body, the certainty of the floor beneath my feet. No presence followed me into the morning. But what happened did not disappear, either. The dream did not shatter or pull away. It loosen

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