The monster didn't come back the next night.
Not as the fire burned down to embers. Not as Sarissa, twitching with exhaustion, fell into a restless doze. Not as Dee finally curled up beneath Miles' shirt, its slow, shallow breaths almost rhythmic.
And not as Miles lay awake, staring into the dim canopy overhead, feeling that strange, almost imperceptible thrum in his chest.
It was real.
That much he knew now.
It was not imagination, nor a byproduct of stress or trauma, neither some shard of the System bleeding through.
It was different.
Simpler.
Something in the way it resonated with him, not through sound or sensation, but meaning. Like a call waiting for an answer, like a door that could open, if only he had the key.
He didn't speak to Sarissa about it at first. She needed the sleep, and truthfully, he wasn't sure what he should say.
