Sunday ended where Saturday had left an unfinished promise: a shared bed, bodies close, breaths synchronized in the dark. But Monday morning — the seventh day — arrived cruelly.
Thalya woke up first. Or rather, she tried to.
A soft groan escaped her as she turned onto her side, her pale face sinking into the pillow.
"Seina…" Her voice came out weak, hoarse. "I think I caught a really bad flu. My whole body hurts… like I got beaten up."
Seina opened her eyes instantly, her heart already racing. Seventh day. The day everything always ended. But Thalya wasn't wounded by claws or hollow eyes. She was just… sick. Feverish. Human.
Morning light filtered through the curtains, pale and gentle, spilling across the bed. Thalya had pushed the blanket aside during the night. She wore only a loose white shirt, clearly too thin for the sunlight now pouring in. The fabric clung softly where it shouldn't, turning faintly translucent. Seina could make out the warmth of Thalya's skin beneath it, the subtle lines of her body hinted at rather than revealed. It wasn't deliberate. It was intimate in the most careless, unguarded way.
Seina swallowed.
She pressed her palm to Thalya's forehead. Too hot. Cold sweat at the nape of her neck.
"Stay still. I'll take care of you."
The day dragged by in slow motion. Seina became a silent guardian: bringing water with lemon, making a thin soup Thalya could barely swallow, wiping her forehead and neck with a damp cloth, adjusting the pillows so she could breathe more easily. Thalya accepted everything with a faint smile, violet eyes clouded by fever.
"You're really good at this," she murmured at one point, gently holding Seina's hand. "Feels like you've done this a thousand times."
Seina squeezed her hand back, saying nothing. It was all she could manage.
The afternoon slipped away. The sun sank low, painting the bedroom in purple and orange hues. Thalya worsened: light tremors, growing confusion. She tried to sit up to reach for water and nearly fell.
"Hot chocolate…" she suddenly asked, stubborn and childlike. "The one in the red package. Can you make it?"
Seina almost laughed from sheer nerves. It was such an unexpected request.
"Of course. Stay here."
She went to the kitchen, heart pounding. As she stirred the milk in the pan, a memory hit her hard: Malori's pie. Thalya eating with pleasure. Her smile. The silver strand of hair. The scar.
"No. It can't be. She wouldn't…" she thought.
A dull thud came from the bedroom.
Seina dropped the spoon and ran.
Thalya was on the floor, among shards of a glass she had tried to reach. Her body was shaking violently now — not just weakness. Short, uncontrolled convulsions. Her eyes were open but unfocused, pupils dilated.
"Thalya!"
Seina lifted her into her arms and carried her back to the bed. Thalya was conscious enough to clutch her shirt.
"I… can't… breathe right…" she whispered, voice broken.
Panic surged up Seina's throat like bile. This wasn't the flu. It was poison. Slow. Insidious. The pie. The pie she had let Thalya eat alone.
"Hang on. Please."
With trembling fingers, she grabbed her phone. The screen lit up: 37 unread messages. 28 missed calls. All from her parents. She ignored them, like she always did, and dialed emergency.
"192, emergency services. What's the situation?"
"My friend! She's been poisoned! High fever, seizures, she collapsed — please, hurry!"
She shouted the address through sobs. The operator promised an ambulance within minutes. Seina tossed the phone onto the bed and turned back to Thalya.
She held Thalya's face with both hands, hot tears spilling freely.
"Look at me. Look at me. You're not leaving. Not now."
Thalya tried to focus, lips trembling. Her chest rose and fell more and more weakly.
Her eyes rolled back. Her body arched once more in a faint convulsion — then went slack.
Her breathing stopped.
There was no dramatic gasp. Just absolute silence. Her chest no longer moved.
Seina froze for endless seconds, listening to her own heart pounding far too loud in the emptiness.
She shook Thalya's shoulders. Nothing.
She shook her again, harder. Nothing.
Tears fell onto Thalya's face, mixing with the cold sweat. Seina collapsed over her, clutching her tightly, face buried against her still-warm neck, her body wracked with silent sobs.
The clock on the wall read 9:47 PM. There were still hours until midnight. For the first time, death came early. No creature. No battle. Just quiet, patient poison.
Seina didn't understand. None of it made sense.
And then, before shock could turn into a scream, the world began to unravel.
The floor gave way. Her vision dissolved into a field of white static. A blinding, silent light tore her away from the room, away from the body, away from that reality.
The Reset took her back — not as a beginning, but as a theft.
And the only thing she carried with her was the deafening emptiness of a loss without explanation, and the terrifying realization that, for the first time, she had no idea what had happened.