My marriage was for money, his for vengeance のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 31 - チャプター 40

5:38 AM – Penthouse, KitchenThe kettle hissed against the bottom of it. Elira leaned against the counter with one hand, her other hand grasping her cup as if stabilizing herself.Caelan came in carefully, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "You beat the sun again.""Barely," she said. "It's still considering rising."He moved past her to get the coffee. "What's on your mind?""The continuity wing," she'd said. "We can't just construct it around logistics. It requires a soul. It requires memory."Caelan observed her in silence, then remarked, "Then we construct it from the people up. Not blueprints. Not titles. Not from me."She gazed at him. "From 'we.' Not 'me.' Not 'you.'"He nodded. "Precisely."---8:04 AM – Ferrer Foundation, Rooftop GardenThe morning briefing was with planters of cassava shoots and herbs. Volunteers were in a half-circle, drinking hot ginger tea, leaning into the heat.Elira stood in front of a flip chart. "The Resilience Wing is not a name. It's a paradigm shif

6:08 AM – Penthouse, Living RoomThe sky had only just started to turn pale into ash-blue. Elira was standing barefoot on the floorboards, pouring water from the kettle into the coffee press. The kitchen light was out, but the soft light from the balcony doors was sufficient.Caelan walked in dressed in a hoodie half-zipped, the same one he'd worn through most of the week. "You're always a step ahead of the light.""It's not a race," she said, pushing the filter slowly. "But some days it feels like one." He rested against the counter next to her. "Still heading to South District first?" "Yeah. The materials drop's at seven. Then the worker-coop meeting in North." "And the mutual aid pantry update after lunch." Elira let out a breath, then nodded. "We cram what we can. What fits backs." ---7:44 AM – South District, Materials SiteA battered flatbed truck pulled in, loaded with corrugated roofing, bamboo, pre-treated plywood, and cement sacks. Volunteers lined up, passing material

5:38 AM – Penthouse, BedroomA muted buzzing shattered the quiet—Elira's phone, half buried under a spiral notebook. She stretched over Caelan, not wanting to wake him, and turned off the alarm.The city lay outside in shades. Her shoulders hurt, not from tension but from added-up-ness—the intangible stacking of days.Caelan woke up. "It's that early again?"She smiled, wiping hair from her face. "The Barangay Five crew's leaving at seven. We have to prepare the equipment."He cracked one eye open, his voice gruff. "Five more minutes. Not of sleep—only quiet."So they rested quietly, sharing breath. Not attempting to figure anything out. Just recalling what it was to remain.--- 7:12 AM – Barangay Five, Tool ShedThe shed smelled of rust and oil, tools neatly arranged in bins tagged with masking tape. Shovels, crowbars, gloves—none of it shiny, but all of it used and returned with care.Elira checked a clipboard. “We’re short two wheelbarrows.”Caelan emerged from the shadows, pushin

5:47 AM – Penthouse, Living RoomThe city was still half-asleep. Outside the window, the skyline stretched in grays and quiet golds. Inside, a forgotten mug sat cold, half full, next to a page Elira had stopped annotating around three.Caelan padded out, hair tousled, notebook in hand. "You’re still on Clause Fourteen?"She arched her neck, grimacing. "I rewrote it four times. Still sounds like an apology."He sat beside her. "What if we end the cliché of rest as an afterthought?"She wrote: Rest is not nothing. It is preparation.He breathed, "Closer."They didn't require a crowd of approval—just the rustle of pages.---7:38 AM – Barangay Eight, Perimeter ShelterThe air was thick with the smell of drying cement. Tarpaulin roofs flapped against rigged bamboo poles. Elira navigated the throng gingerly, recording water levels and latrine rotation rosters.A boy poked her in the elbow. "Miss, will this be home?"She crouched beside him. "For now. But homes aren't just walls."He gestur

5:41 AM – Penthouse, BedroomElira stirred awake before the alarm could sound. The light was dim, the quiet just beginning to thin around the edges. She lay still for a moment, her palm flat over Caelan’s chest, feeling the steady rhythm under skin and cotton.He didn’t open his eyes, but his voice broke the hush. “You’re thinking about Site 4 again.”She didn't refuse. "They're opening classes today. I want to send more readers."He picked up the phone on the nightstand and muttered, "Then let's find a way."---7:08 AM – Ferrer Foundation, Archive HallThe smell of used paper and donated books blended with the fresh smell of newly wrapped plastic. Volunteers organized stacks by age. Elira placed a Grade 3 reader into the hands of a teacher-turned-coordinator, who smiled with exhaustion that issued from days of movement, not defeat.Caelan came in from the back storage, a heavy binder clutched in her hand. "New inventory lists arrived. Someone donated a complete set of Banahaw mythol