Sayo didn't speak much.
But she watched everything.
She moved like soone who had lived too long without being seen—silent steps, careful hands, eyes that tracked the sky like it might change without warning.
Rin kept close to her, not out of fear, but sothing gentler. Protective. Familiar.
I walked ahead most of the ti, listening for anything strange—the wind, the trees, the sound of the world unraveling. But nothing ca.
Nothing loud, anyway.
Just... the thread.
***
That night, we made camp near the edge of a half-burned forest. The ground was soft with ash. Sayo curled beside the fire without complaint, her eyes flickering shut almost imdiately.
Rin sat beside , warming her hands near the fla.
"She's not afraid of anything," I said quietly.
"She afraid of being left behind," Rin replied.
I looked at her.
She didn't look back.
When I slept, the dream ca.
Only this ti, it was different.
I wasn't in the void.
I was in a room—stone walls, high ceiling, paper lanterns casting golden light. And they were both there.
Rin stood by the door, dressed in red, her eyes older than any version of her I'd ever seen.
Sayo stood across from her, barefoot on the tatami, holding a mirror that reflected nothing.
They looked at like they'd seen fall a thousand tis.And then the clock began ticking.
Not behind .
Inside .
I reached for it—
And woke up gasping.
***
Rin was already watching .
"You saw it too."
I nodded slowly.
"Both of us?" She asked.
"Yes."
Sayo stirred in her sleep, turning toward the fire.
Rin leaned forward, voice quiet. "The thread is looping. Not just across ti—but across us."
I didn't understand.
But I believed her.
The next morning, Sayo walked up to before we left. She didn't speak. She just pointed to the road ahead.
"There's sothing waiting," she said.
"What is it?"
She tilted her head.
"I think it used to be soone."
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