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Pepper catches his wrist. “No hovering.”
“I’m checking on you.”
“You can check while snuggling.”
Theo considers the invitation then sits on the floor beside the sofa. Pepper stretches one leg until her foot rests against his thigh. Theo covers her ankle with his palm. His other hand settles on my knee.
The old bond aches at the contact, deep and hot beneath my shoulder. Theo’s mouth tightens, but he leaves his hand where it is.
Last night lives close beneath my skin. Pepper between us. Theo’s mouth on mine. The three of us choosing the moment instead of mourning what might follow it. Right now counts.
I turn my hand beneath Pepper’s and lace our fingers together. Rain taps softly against the windows. Breakfast cools on the table. Theo’s purr moves through the room, quiet and steady.
Pepper doesn’t ask me to be less afraid. She doesn’t turn my fading into something solemn that requires careful voices and pitying looks. She climbs into my lap, corrects my behavior, steals my coffee, and stays exactly herself. With Pepper, I never have to pretend to be brave. I can be scared, playful, selfish, hopeful, and uncertain, sometimes all in the same breath, and she keeps seeing me.
Not the fading. Me.
The laptop chimes on the dining table.
Pepper flinches against my chest.
Theo looks toward the sound. “Leave it.”
“It might be Wes,” I say.
“Wes texts.”
Pepper doesn’t move from my lap. “Bring it here.”
Theo looks at the laptop for another second, jaw tight, then exhales through his nose. He retrieves it and sets it on the coffee table without argument.
The new email is from Dr. Sawyer. Urgent Follow-Up: Continuity Tracking
My stomach drops before I open it. Pepper’s fingers curl around mine.
The message is brief. Dr. Sawyer reviewed the tracking spreadsheet I updated after we returned from the false grave. She compared the last twenty-four hours of entries and found an accelerating pattern in the frequency of partial disappearances, sensory interruption, and delayed recovery.
She recommends an emergency stabilization protocol. A private cell number appears beneath her signature. Given the rate of change, please call tonight rather than waiting for clinic hours.
Theo reads over my shoulder. “You entered episodes?”
“From yesterday.”
“How many?”
“Six.”
His scent deepens.
Pepper sits up enough to look at me. “I thought there were four.”
“I had two more while you and Theo were downstairs.”
Her lips tighten.
“I didn’t want the whole night to turn into everyone watching me for the next disappearance. But I still should’ve told you,” I add.
“You don’t decide for me.”
