The silence was worse than the alarms.
When the room finally emptied, the echoes lingered—footsteps that had already left, questions that no one dared to ask out loud.
The cracked glass remained on the table.
Untouched.
---
Danindra sat alone, hands folded so tightly his knuckles had gone pale.
AI Kira's interface flickered uncertainly.
> STATUS: THREAD — UNLOCATABLE
CITY RESONANCE: UNSTABLE BUT NON-HOSTILE
"Non-hostile," Danindra murmured. "That's your comfort word."
A pause.
> CORRECTION:
NON-HOSTILE DOES NOT MEAN SAFE
Danindra closed his eyes.
---
By nightfall, the investigation began.
Not official.
Not public.
Two representatives returned—one academic, one government.
"We're not accusing," the observer said, voice measured. "We're concerned."
"Concern is accusation with patience," Jayantara replied coolly.
The observer didn't argue.
"We need to know where it went."
"So do we," Danindra said.
---
Across GarudaCity, the effects rippled quietly.
At a small tailor shop, a seamstress found herself unable to focus—every cut felt wrong.
A customer returned a Oneiro jacket, saying it suddenly felt "empty."
Another refused to take theirs off.
Balance, once restored, had tilted.
---
Wirasmi walked the city streets barefoot.
Not because she had to—
Because shoes interfered.
The ground spoke more clearly this way.
The hum no longer flowed like a river.
It eddied.
Pooling in unexpected places.
She paused beneath an old banyan tree.
There.
A faint warmth.
Like a pulse without a heart.
---
In LionCity Raya, Ace's flight descended through low clouds.
He watched the lights below, expression unreadable.
"This city never wanted power," he said softly. "It wanted to be understood."
His phone vibrated.
A single message from his wife.
> Be careful. You feel heavier than usual.
Ace smiled faintly.
"I know," he replied. "That means it matters."
---
Back at Oneiro Rewear, Yunitra stood alone in the showroom.
She ran her fingers across a display piece.
For the first time since the brand began, the fabric did not respond.
She inhaled slowly.
"So," she said to the empty room, "this is what absence feels like."
---
Night deepened.
The investigation paused—not resolved, just… waiting.
In the shadows of GarudaCity, the thread drifted—drawn not by ambition, not by curiosity—
But by familiarity.
Toward a place that listened without asking.
Toward hands that never demanded.
Toward Wirasmi.
She felt it then.
A warmth against her palm.
Startled, she froze.
The air shimmered.
And slowly, impossibly, the thread reappeared—dim, frayed, and tired.
"Oh," she whispered, tears stinging her eyes.
"You ran."
The thread trembled.
Not in fear.
In relief.