Silence. Obviously. Corpses don't talk back. I checked.
Twenty-three.
I press my throat into her vertebrae. Harder. Feel them cut into the skin—not deep enough to bleed. Disappointing.
Harder.
There. That's—
Kosh, stop.
"You're dead. You don't get to tell me what to do."
Twenty-four. Twenty-five. Two at once. Interesting.
The execution is tomorrow. I think. Time doesn't—time. I'll know when they come for me. Then I'll die. Then I'll find out if there's anything after.
Probably not. But it'll be quiet at least. Unless I'm there with all the people I've killed. That would be loud. That would be—
Funny. I should tell someone.
There's no one to tell.
Twenty-six.
The pull hits without warning.
Something in the threads yanks and my whole body locks. I bite down on my tongue—hard, harder than before—and blood floods my mouth.
What—
The dripping stops. Did it stop? No. I stopped counting. When did I stop counting?
What is that.
Something is reaching through me. Doesn't exist yet. Can't exist yet. But I feel it out there, somewhere, somewhen—a thread I don't recognize, pulling back, pulling at me.
For me.
My skull cracks open from the inside. Not pain—pressure. Something pouring in where the nothing used to be. My lungs seize. My hands are shaking and I don't know when they started. Every nerve in my body fires at once, screaming one thing—
Stay alive.
Not words. Not thought. Just truth, slamming through me harder than anything I've ever perceived. Absolute. Undeniable.
Something needs me. Something that doesn't exist yet. Something that will.
I'm choking on blood. My blood. My chest is full—too full—pressure building behind my ribs and I don't want it, I don't, I've been empty for so long and this is—
I need it.
I need to live.
One heartbeat I'm waiting to die. The next one I'm not.
The bones snap.
Her ribs fall from my wrists and clatter on stone. I'm standing—when did I stand up?—hands at my throat, vertebrae crumbling between my fingers—
