I wake with the uneasy certainty that today will not let me stay quiet inside my own head, because the bond hums with a steady insistence that feels less like a warning and more like a nudge, persistent enough to be noticed but not sharp enough to demand action. I lie there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, listening to the packhouse stir into motion, and I make a decision before my thoughts can spiral.
I am not hiding today.
I shower, letting the water run warm over my shoulders while I breathe slowly and deliberately, grounding myself in the ordinary, brushing my teeth, tying my hair back, pulling on clothes that feel like me rather than armor. The bond remains steady through it all, observant rather than intrusive, and I take that as permission to move forward instead of bracing f
