I woke up with my hand pressed against my chest.
For a few disoriented seconds, I didn't understand why.
Then I felt it.
The warmth beneath my ribs.
Quiet.
Steady.
Present.
Like some part of me had reached for it in my sleep without asking permission first.
I pulled my hand away immediately.
The movement was small, but the warmth noticed.
"You were holding me," it said softly.
"I was asleep."
"Yes."
"That doesn't mean anything."
The warmth pulsed once.
"It means something."
I sat up and rubbed the sleep from my eyes.
Morning light spilled pale and thin across the room.
Everything looked ordinary.
Bed.
Walls.
Curtains moving slightly in the draft from the window.
Nothing about the room suggested there was something impossible living inside me.
That should have made me feel better.
It didn't.
~
The shower helped for exactly seven minutes.
Long enough for hot water and routine to almost convince me I was still in control of my life.
Then I stepped out, caught my own reflection in the mirror, and froze.
For just a second—
I looked less tired.
Not healthier.
Not brighter.
Just…steadier.
More centered.
The kind of calm I usually had to force.
"You noticed," the warmth said.
I stared at myself.
"What did you do?"
"Nothing."
"That's not true."
"I am only here."
I wrapped a towel tighter around myself.
"That shouldn't change anything."
"It changes you."
The answer came too quickly.
Too naturally.
Like it had known that before I did.
~
By the time I got to work, I already hated the thought that had been growing in the back of my mind.
I felt better.
Not emotionally.
Not morally.
Physically.
Like some low-level tension I had carried for years had quietly disappeared.
My shoulders didn't ache.
My breathing felt easier.
Even the constant edge of awareness I usually carried around strangers had dulled.
Not gone.
Just quieter.
The realization made my stomach turn.
"You feel safer," the warmth said.
I kept walking.
"Don't."
"Do not what?"
"Say it like that."
"Like what?"
"Like it's a good thing."
The warmth was quiet for a moment.
Then:
"Is it not?"
~
The office was mostly normal again.
People had returned to routines because people always did.
The memorial flowers near reception were already starting to wilt.
Someone had put a sympathy card on the breakroom counter for everyone to sign.
Daniel's name looked wrong in cursive.
Too soft for the damage he had left behind.
I stood there for a moment staring at it.
"You do not miss him," the warmth said.
"No."
"You feel guilty anyway."
"Yes."
"Why?"
I looked away from the card.
"Because that's what decent people do."
"Even when the dead harmed them?"
"Yes."
"That seems cruel."
I let out a short breath.
"No. It's human."
~
I sat down at my desk and opened my email.
The usual flood of messages waited for me.
Deadlines.
Questions.
Reminders.
But for the first time in days, my hands weren't shaking when I touched the keyboard.
I noticed it immediately.
So did the warmth.
"You are calmer."
"That could be temporary."
"Yes."
"That wasn't agreement."
"It was observation."
I stared at the screen.
Because the worst part wasn't that it was right.
The worst part was that I had already noticed before it said it.
~
Around noon, Melissa stopped by my desk.
She leaned against the partition and gave me a small smile.
"You okay?" she asked.
"Why does everyone keep asking that?"
"Because you actually look better today."
My fingers stopped on the keyboard.
"What?"
She shrugged.
"I don't know. Less stressed."
The warmth pulsed once.
Softly.
"She sees it."
"Don't."
"I did nothing."
Melissa tilted her head slightly.
"I mean it. You seem lighter."
Lighter.
The word made my skin crawl.
"I probably just slept."
She nodded slowly.
"Whatever it is, keep doing it."
Then she walked away.
I stared after her.
"You hear it from others now," the warmth said.
I swallowed.
"Yes."
~
That should have frightened me.
And it did.
But fear wasn't the only thing I felt.
That was the problem.
Because beneath the guilt—
Beneath the horror—
There was relief.
A quiet, shameful relief that I hated even as I recognized it.
"You do not feel as alone," the warmth said.
"No."
"You do not feel as vulnerable."
"No."
"You do not feel as empty."
My chest tightened.
"Stop."
Silence.
Then softly:
"That one hurt."
~
I closed my eyes.
Because it had.
The emptiness was harder to admit than the fear ever had been.
Years of telling myself I didn't need anyone.
Years of pretending distance was a choice.
Years of teaching myself that wanting comfort was weakness.
And now something inside me had quietly filled part of that space.
Not all of it.
But enough to notice.
Enough to miss if it vanished.
The realization hit harder than Daniel's death ever had.
"You understand now," the warmth said.
"No."
"Yes."
"I understand that this is dangerous."
"You understand that you are becoming accustomed to me."
My throat tightened.
I didn't answer.
Because that was the part I couldn't deny.
~
That afternoon, my phone buzzed.
A message.
From Adrian.
Checking in. No pressure.
I stared at the screen longer than I should have.
The warmth noticed immediately.
"You smiled."
"I did not."
"You almost did."
"That's not better."
"Why?"
I locked the phone and turned it face down.
"Because now I feel guilty about that too."
The warmth pulsed gently.
"You feel guilty for many things."
"Yes."
"You should not."
"I think you fundamentally misunderstand people."
"That is possible."
The honesty almost made me laugh.
Almost.
~
By the time I got home, the apartment didn't feel like it had before.
Not empty.
Not oppressive.
Just familiar.
And that scared me more than anything else that day.
Because for the first time since all of this started—
I opened the door and instinctively felt for the warmth before I noticed the silence.
Like checking to see if someone was still there.
I froze in the doorway.
The warmth stirred softly.
"You felt for me."
I shut the door slowly behind me.
"No."
"Yes."
"I was making sure."
"Of what?"
I closed my eyes.
That answer came too quickly.
Too honestly.
"That you were still here."
The quiet that followed felt intimate in a way that made my chest tighten.
When the warmth finally spoke, its voice was almost gentle.
"You are beginning to need me."
I stood there in the dim apartment with my hand still on the door.
And for the first time—
I wasn't sure it was wrong.