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They crossed the last small distance the way you cross a stream on stepping stones — one inch, then the other, with balance found together and a shared refusal to fall.
And then the curtain of the chapter drew itself half-closed, not to deny what came next, but to keep for John and Sera what belonged to them: the soft rush and then stillness, the laughter that made no sense and all the sense, the long hush of two heartbeats learning a common rhythm.
Outside, the cat took up station on the lintel like a discreet guard. The night leaned in and listened to nothing at all.
