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Chapter 47 - The Real Loki

I didn't sleep that night.

I couldn't.

Not with the Author's voice still crawling around inside my head like centipede legs, brushing against the walls of my skull.

Not with that vision burned into the back of my eyelids—

The rain that wasn't water.

The older me.

The smile behind the chains.

I lay in bed, fully clothed, staring up at the wooden ceiling as shadows twisted across the beams like they had a life of their own.

The silence wasn't peaceful.

It felt suffocating,

Even the wind outside sounded wrong. Too smooth. Like it was being looped.

Like someone had written "gentle breeze" into the script and kept replaying the same two seconds over and over again.

And the phone?

I hadn't touched it since.

It sat face-down on the nightstand, looking as harmless as a dead fly.

But I could still feel it.

Like it was observing my every movement.

Waiting for the next scene to begin.

Morning came, eventually.

It always does.

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