I feel the bond faintly.
Not the way it used to announce itself, sharp and insistent, flaring like a nerve touched too hard. That version never arrived quietly. It demanded attention. Claimed space. Made sure I noticed it even when I was trying not to.
This is quieter than that. Background. Like a sound I only notice when it stops, or a presence I register without turning my head.
Stable.
It doesn’t guide me.
That’s the first thing I clock, sometime before dawn, when I wake without an alarm and lie there staring at the ceiling while the packhouse breathes around me. Pipes tick as water heats somewhere down the hall. A door opens, then shuts again. Footsteps pass, unhurried, familiar enough that my body doesn’t tense in response.
Normal life, unfolding in small, unremarkable motions t
