Sayo didn't speak much.
But she watched everything.
She moved like someone 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 something gentler. Protective. Familiar.
I walked ahead most of the time, listening for anything strange—the wind, the trees, the sound of the world unraveling. But nothing came.
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 immediately.
Rin sat beside me, warming her hands near the flame.
"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 came.
Only this time, 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 me like they'd seen me fall a thousand times.And then the clock began ticking.
Not behind me.
Inside me.
I reached for it—
And woke up gasping.
***
Rin was already watching me.
"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 time—but across us."
I didn't understand.
But I believed her.
The next morning, Sayo walked up to me before we left. She didn't speak. She just pointed to the road ahead.
"There's something waiting," she said.
"What is it?"
She tilted her head.
"I think it used to be someone."