The mansion was quiet, wrapped in the artificial peace of 3:00 AM. But to Cale, the silence was screaming.He stood in the center of the bedroom, his back to the door, staring at the ceiling. The heavy velvet drapes were drawn tight, blocking out the moonlight, but they couldn't block out what he saw.The air above the bed was writhing.Usually, the Death Threads were thin, grey wisps—potential accidents, minor injuries, the statistical probability of a stubbed toe or a paper cut. They were background noise.Tonight, they were ropes.Thick, oily black cables snaked across the plaster molding, pulsing with a slow, necrotic rhythm. They coiled around the chandelier. They dripped down the walls like tar.They're back, Cale thought, his hand instinctively going to his wrist. And they're heavier.He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to clear his vision. A sharp spike of pain drilled into his temples—the cost of using the Sight for too long without rest. When he opened his eyes again, the thre
最終更新日 : 2026-01-18 続きを読む