บททั้งหมดของ Claimed by Death : บทที่ 11 - บทที่ 20

Nora's Point of View I wake with the certainty that I am not alone. Not the way you wake from a nightmare. Not the hazy panic of a half-remembered dream. This is different. The room is exactly as I left it. The lamp on the end table. The blanket twisted around my legs. My laptop closed, dark and silent. Moonlight spills through the blinds in thin silver lines, striping the floor. Nothing is wrong. And yet my chest feels tight, like something important has already passed through me. I sit up slowly and listen. Even for this late hour, the silence feels wrong. No distant sirens. No passing cars. Not even the usual late-night voices drifting up from the street. I swing my legs over the edge of the couch. “That’s new,” I whisper. My tarot deck sits on the coffee table where I left it. The cards look ordinary. Harmless. Just paper and ink and old symbols. I reach for them anyway. The moment my fingers brush the top card, the room shifts. Not physically. Something

Nora’s Point of View I wake to sunlight and the strange awareness that the night did not pass unnoticed. Not the feeling of being watched. The feeling of having been kept. Like a promise made without words. The room looks the same. The couch beneath me. The blanket twisted around my legs. Pale gold light slipping through the blinds. The city beyond the windows already awake. And yet the air feels alert, like something stood guard until morning. I lie still for a moment, listening. Traffic hums. A door slams somewhere down the block. Someone laughs, sharp and brief. Normal sounds that don’t ease the tension in my chest. “He stayed,” I murmur, without knowing why I’m certain. The space near the far wall feels warmer than the rest of the room. Not occupied. Just recently vacated. I sit up slowly and rub my arms, grounding myself. Whatever watched over me last night is gone now, but the reason it stayed doesn’t feel gone at all. The quiet feels wrong. Not empty, but watch

Nora’s Point of View He was gone before I could answer. Not walked-away gone. Not slam-the-door gone. Gone like the room had never held him at all. The air stayed heavy anyway, thick with the memory of him, like it did not know how to move forward without his permission. My living room looked exactly the same as it had minutes ago, but it felt altered. Too still. Too quiet. As if the world itself had paused to see what I would do next. My hands were shaking. I pressed my palms against my thighs and focused on breathing. Slow. Controlled. Human. Accounted for. The word echoed in my head, sharp and unforgiving. I was no longer overlooked. No longer tolerated. I was accounted for. It sounded like a ledger entry. Like someone had finally written my name down in ink that could not be erased. I swallowed and dragged the sleeve of my sweater across my cheeks. Only then did I realize I was crying. “You said there would be a cost,” I whispered into the empty room. My voic

Nora’s Point of View Morning came without ceremony. No dreams. No warnings. Just the familiar shape of my ceiling and the steady rhythm of my own breathing. I lay still for a while, not thinking, letting my body decide whether it was safe to move. Nothing ached more than it had the night before. Nothing felt lighter either. Whatever had shifted inside me had settled, not healed. I got up when staying still started to feel like avoidance. The shower helped. The heat, the steam, the simple act of washing something away even if it was only soap and sleep. I dressed slowly, choosing comfort over intention, and tied my hair back with the same elastic I always used. Normal decisions still existed. That mattered. In the kitchen, I poured coffee and leaned against the counter while it brewed. The tarot deck sat where I had left it. I didn’t pretend it wasn’t there. I also didn’t reach for it. That, too, felt like a decision. I carried my mug to the table and sat down. The notebook

Nora’s Point of View I arrived a few minutes early. Not out of nerves. Out of habit. The restaurant was quiet without being empty. Soft lighting. Low voices. Nothing that demanded attention. I liked that immediately. It felt like a place people came to talk, not perform. I chose a small table near the window, slid into the chair, and set my bag at my feet. My hands folded together in my lap like they were trying to behave. I didn’t check my phone. I didn’t pretend to be busy so I wouldn’t look like I was waiting. I was waiting. That was fine. This wasn’t an escape. It was a pause. When he walked in, I recognized him instantly. The same easy posture from the café, like the world didn’t push too hard against his shoulders. He scanned the room, spotted me, hesitated for half a second, then smiled like he was relieved I was real and not an idea he’d talked himself into on the way over. “Hey,” he said. “Hey.” We did the brief, awkward half-hug of two people still negotiating di