Wirasmi did not move.
She knelt beneath the banyan tree, the city breathing softly around her, afraid that even the smallest gesture might send the thread fleeing again.
It hovered just above her palm.
Dim.
Uneven.
Alive.
"You don't have to stay," she whispered.
The thread quivered.
That was answer enough.
---
She wrapped it—not in containment glass, not in circuitry—but in the simplest cotton she carried. The kind she used for repairs no one ever noticed.
The thread relaxed.
Its light softened, threading itself gently into the fibers.
"Rest," Wirasmi said. "I'll listen."
---
By morning, GarudaCity felt different.
Not broken.
Paused.
As if the city itself were holding its breath.
Danindra noticed it immediately.
The lab felt hollow, like a room after someone important had left without saying goodbye.
AI Kira confirmed what he already sensed.
> RESONANCE SOURCE RELOCALIZED
LOCATION: UNREGISTERED — NON-COMMERCIAL ZONE
"Someone found it," Danindra said.
"Or it found someone," Amara replied.
---
Ace arrived at Oneiro Rewear without announcement.
No entourage.
No explanation.
Yunitra met him in the lobby, her expression unreadable.
"So," she said, "you've come out of hiding."
Ace inclined his head slightly. "Only because it stopped listening to us."
They stood in silence for a moment.
Then Yunitra smiled faintly.
"Good," she said. "It never should have."
---
Wirasmi spent the day doing nothing extraordinary.
She mended a torn sleeve.
She adjusted a hem.
She brewed tea for a neighbor.
And all the while, the thread watched.
Listened.
Learned.
It did not glow brighter.
It grew steadier.
---
That evening, Danindra followed the signal to the old listening hall.
He stopped at the doorway.
Inside, Wirasmi sat cross-legged on the floor, sewing by lamplight.
He did not speak.
Neither did she.
The thread hummed softly between them.
Not tense.
Cautious.
Balanced.
"You're not here to take it," Wirasmi said at last.
Danindra shook his head.
"I'm here to ask if it wants to go back."
Wirasmi looked at the thread.
Then at him.
"It won't answer commands," she said gently. "Only care."
Danindra exhaled.
"I think," he said, voice thick, "that's the first honest thing it's done."
---
Outside, Ace watched the building from across the street.
He did not intervene.
This choice was not his.
GarudaCity's hum shifted—quietly realigning, not through force, not through spectacle—
But through consent.
And somewhere between fabric and intention, the thread made its decision.
Not to return.
Not to disappear.
But to stay—only where it was never asked to prove its worth.