CHAPTER 97: THE ORDINARY DAYS.

Gloss POV

The world is quiet now. I wake up every morning to sunlight filtering through cream-colored curtains instead of the cold blue light of a system interface. No missions, no holograms, no mechanical voice echoing in my mind. Just silence, birds outside, and the faint hum of the city breathing beyond my balcony.

I live in a small apartment, not too far from the river. It’s not much, but it’s enough. The walls are pale, the furniture second-hand, the kind of simplicity I never thought I’d crave. I’ve built a routine, wake up, water the plants I barely keep alive, go for a jog, stop by the same café for a cup of black coffee, then walk to the bookstore where I work part-time. No more chaos, no more algorithms whispering in my head. Just me, trying to live.

But peace, I’ve learned, comes with a strange kind of ache.

The coffee always hits me hardest.

The first sip each morning pulls something inside me, something untraceable but sharp. It feels like memory, like the ghost of l