Chapter 4

Liam' s bedroom was minimalist, sterile.

Filled with high-end tech, screens dark.

Ava began her preparations.

Her tools were a mix of modern medical equipment and items Abuela had given her.

Carved wooden bowls, dried herbs, small, smooth stones.

She needed absolute privacy.

"No surveillance," she stated, her voice calm but firm. "My process is delicate."

Marcus nodded. "Of course. The room is secure."

Ava smiled faintly. She didn' t trust him.

As she laid out her things, her senses, honed by years of this work, scanned the room.

There.

A micro-camera, cleverly hidden in a smoke detector. Sophisticated.

She moved a small, silver music box, one of Abuela' s, onto the bedside table.

She opened it. No music played.

But a faint, almost imperceptible hum emitted from it for a few seconds.

The camera' s tiny lens went dead. Neutralized.

She began the initial stages of the Heirloom Weaving.

The scent of specific herbs filled the air.

She placed her hands on Liam' s forehead.

Cool skin. Too cool. But something was... off.

She listened to his body, not with a stethoscope, but with an older sense.

A stillness, yes. But not the stillness of death.

Her breath caught.

She recognized this.

"Serene Stillness."

A profound meditative trance Abuela taught only a few.

It mimicked death perfectly.

Abuela had mentioned a troubled young man, years ago.

Spent a summer near their community. A "kindred spirit."

Liam Ashford.

Ava carefully, slowly, began to reverse the process.

Not the Weaving. Something else. A counter-rhythm.

Minutes stretched.

Liam' s chest rose. A tiny, shaky breath.

His eyes fluttered open.

They were filled with a raw, desperate fear.