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Chapter Fifty-Two — The Stranger at the Table
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13.01.2026 10:14:56
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Claimed by Death Chapter Seventy-Four — The Second I Left
Kieran’s Point of View Hospitals are not sacred. They are necessary. Thresholds built of fluorescent light, antiseptic, and human refusal. They smell like fear that has learned manners and sound like endurance. Beneath every squeak of shoes and muffled sob behind a curtain is the quiet truth that brings me here again and again, not because I want to, but because I must. Souls gather in places like this, hovering at the edge of their own endings, waiting for a breath that does not come, waiting for permission they do not know they are seeking. I arrive before Nora does. When our paths cross in places like this, I am almost always already there. The corridor opens to me without resistance. Doors do not stop me. Security does not register me. The system recognizes what I am even when the people inside it do not. I do not wear my cloak. Not here. Not today. I let the angelic form settle over me like a veil of mercy, not because I am holy, but because it is the face I wea
Claimed by Death Chapter Seventy-Three — The Place Where She Returns
Nora’s Point of View I wake with the memory of starlight still on my skin. For a moment, I do not move. I let the morning settle around me the way it does after something meaningful has happened, as though the world is being careful not to disturb the afterimage. The bed is empty. Not in the way that suggests absence, but in the way that suggests choice. The pillow beside me is still warm. The air holds the faint scent of him, clean and unmistakable. He was here. He stayed. And when morning came, he left on his own terms. I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling. Sunlight cuts in pale lines across the room, making everything ordinary again. No visions. No pulls. No warnings. Just light, dust in the air, and the steady rhythm of my breathing. I sit up slowly and notice my body remembers last night in the gentlest way. Not pain, not ache, just awareness, like a door that opened and decided to stay open. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and rest my feet on the floor
Claimed by Death Chapter Seventy-Two — Fate’s Point of View
The world has returned to its ordinary rhythm. Not peace, but steadiness, the way a vast mechanism resumes its hum after a brief disturbance. Threads continue to flow. Lives continue to bend toward their ends. The Weave holds, as it always does. And still, something refuses to align. It is not shattered. It is not broken. It is shifted, and stubbornly so. From my vantage, existence resembles a living map. Luminous lines bend toward one another, separate, then converge again. Birth arcs toward death. Choice ripples into consequence. Probability drifts beneath everything like an invisible current, always present and always accounted for. It is efficient. It is beautiful. It is merciless only in its consistency. Yet in the center of it all, a blank remains. A silence where there should be pattern. Nora. Her name carries weight now, though it should not. Names belong to mortals, fragile labels for fragile lives. To me, she should be a coordinate, a trajectory, a clean line
Claimed by Death Chapter Seventy-One — The Gravity of Us
Kieran’s Point of View The silence of the clearing is not empty. It is heavy, vibrating with the weight of things unsaid and the sudden, sharp proximity of a woman who has become my entire horizon. Nora lies on the blanket, her skin catching the moonlight until she looks less like a person and more like a celestial event. I have watched the birth of stars, the slow, violent churning of nebulae, but they were distant. Cold. This is warm. This is breathing. I shift, propping myself on one elbow to look down at her. My hand finds the curve of her bare shoulder. The dress she chose is a soft, dark fabric that leaves her collarbones and shoulders exposed to the night air. Under my touch, she is electric. “Nora,” I whisper. Her name is a prayer I didn’t know I was capable of offering. She turns her head toward me, her hair spilling across the blanket like ink. Her eyes are dark, the pupils blown wide as she tracks my movement. I lean in, my breath ghosting over the shell
Claimed by Death Chapter Seventy — Where the World Once Paused
Nora’s Point of View The morning does not rush us. We move through it slowly, as if neither of us is quite ready to name what it is yet. The light shifts across the floor while I move around the kitchen, pulling things together from habit more than thought. Eggs. Bread. Butter. The quiet rhythm of something familiar grounding me after everything that came before. Kieran watches. Not in the distant way he usually observes the world, but with a kind of focused curiosity, like he’s trying to understand why any of this matters at all. I crack eggs into a bowl and glance back at him. “You’re staring again.” “I’m observing,” he says. “There’s a difference.” I smile despite myself. “Is there?” “Yes.” His gaze follows my hands as I whisk. “You’re doing this without thinking. But it’s intentional.” “That’s just cooking.” He tilts his head slightly. “No. It’s preparation. You’re making something because someone will receive it.” The way he says it makes my chest tighten. “I guess,”
Claimed by Death Chapter Sixty-Nine — Morning Light
Nora’s Point of View I wake slowly. Not all at once, not with the jolt of panic or confusion that usually pulls me out of sleep, but gently, as if the morning itself is being careful with me. For a moment, I don’t move. I don’t open my eyes. I just breathe. There’s warmth beside me. Steady. Solid. Real. It takes a few seconds for my mind to catch up to the sensation, to remember why the weight against my side feels unfamiliar but not unwelcome. When I do open my eyes, it’s to the quiet light of early morning filtering through the curtains. Pale and soft, the kind that makes everything look a little kinder than it did the night before. Kieran is lying on his side, facing me. He looks peaceful. Not guarded. Not distant. Not like he’s bracing himself against something unseen. His face is relaxed, lashes resting against his cheeks, breath slow and even. He looks asleep. I watch him longer than I mean to. There’s something about seeing him like this that feels almost unreal, lik
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