Act One: Entering the Game · A Prison of the Senses
The lights slammed down.
Like shattered glass, piece by piece, slicing into her retinas.
Jiang Mian opened her eyes.
The glare stabbed so hard her pupils shrank to pinpoints. Her vision went white, then color slowly bled back in— the stark white walls of an interrogation room, a steel-gray table, two figures in police uniforms sitting across from her.
She blinked once. Her lashes scraped over her dry eyeballs, bringing a faint, stinging pain.
The handcuffs on her wrists were icy cold. The metal edges bit into her flesh, numb with pain. She tried moving her fingers; the returning blood sent needle-like tingles through them.
The air smelled of rust, stale sweat from cops who’d been up all night, mixed with cheap coffee and the greasy residue of instant noodles. When she inhaled, the smell crawled down her nasal passages and clung deep in her throat.
She leaned back against the hard plastic chair, her spine aching from the pressure.
Then—
Memory crashed in.
Two streams of memory, like two runaway trains, slammed into each other inside her head.
The first was sweet and sticky, reeking of cheap perfume—
Jiang Mian, the vicious supporting female character. Twenty-four years old. Adopted daughter of the Gu family. Madly in love with a man named Gu Xingye.
To frame his white-moonlight first love, Shen Yanxin, she’d dragged herself into a police case, forged evidence, hired people to injure others…
Though she was later released on bail, that was the beginning of her tragic fate. Cyberbullying. Humiliation. Betrayal. False accusations. Total neglect.
When she finally died, Gu Xingye was in the Maldives with Shen Yanxin, trying on wedding gowns.
The second stream was cold and hard, carrying the smell of gunpowder and blood—
Jiang Huaying. Twenty-six years old. Criminal profiling specialist at the provincial bureau, someone who hunted serial killers so twisted that normal people would have nightmares just hearing about them.
At a celebration banquet, a colleague had once raised a beer bottle and joked:
“Huaying, with a brain like yours, if you ever transmigrated into some evil supporting character, I bet you’d flip the entire plot in episode one!”
“Flip my ass,” she’d laughed, snacks hanging from her mouth. “I’d run. Immediately.”
Run?
Jiang Mian—now Jiang Mian—curled her cracked lips. A tiny cut split open, leaking the metallic taste of blood.
Too late.
A hell-mode start. Spawn-killed. No buffer. No mercy.
She lifted her gaze toward the people across from her.
The older cop looked about fifty, crow’s feet deep enough to trap mosquitoes. He slowly slid a photo toward her, deliberately dragging out the movement with that interrogation-room pressure.
The photo was blurry—clearly a CCTV still.
A long-haired figure in a beige trench coat, holding a stone, poised to strike.
Another photo showed a side profile—even blurrier—but the tear mole at the corner of the eye was painfully clear.
Exactly the same position as the one on her own face.
“Jiang Mian. Adopted daughter of the Gu family,” the old cop said, his voice hoarse like sandpaper on wood. “Recognize this person?”
The younger cop slammed the notebook on the table.
“We’ve got your fingerprints at the scene! Three strands of your hair! Your rhinestone butterfly hair clip was found right next to Chen Ming! Three witnesses saw it clearly—beige trench coat, long hair, tear mole at the eye, running out of the parking lot in a panic!”
He leaned forward, palms braced on the table, veins bulging.
“Just admit it. Save everyone the trouble. A delicate little rich girl like you won’t hold up.”
Jiang Mian didn’t move.
She stared at the photo. At the tear mole.
Ten full seconds.
Then she raised her eyes to the old cop and spoke.
Her voice was hoarse—but steady, far too steady for someone who had just “woken up.”
“The photo is fake.”
The younger cop snorted.
“With evidence this solid you still—”
“The mole’s color is wrong,” Jiang Mian cut in.
The interrogation room fell silent.
Even the old cop’s hand froze mid-motion.
[High-Dimensional Live Stream · Viewers Online: 127]
Comments drifted by:
【Dump the Scumbag】: Betting’s open! How many minutes till she breaks down crying? I say three! In the original she peed herself here!
【TruthNeeds8xZoom】: That’s messed up… but yeah, I’m betting five minutes. Look at her shaking hands.
【NewbieDon’tBlock】: Who’s this? She’s kinda pretty, just looks sickly.
【IKnowThisPlot】: She collapses here and cries “Brother Xingye save me,” gag—skipped it.
【Passerby】: New stream? What is this place? Title’s pretty bold.
Jiang Mian couldn’t see any of it.
But she could feel it—she’d felt it since the moment she woke up.
Something was watching her.
Countless gazes. Cold. Weightless. Yet sharp as needles pricking her back.
Not one or two.
Many. Too many.
She lowered her eyes and forced the discomfort down.
Act Two: Patrolling the Board · A Glimmer of Flaw
The old cop narrowed his eyes and lifted the photo closer.
Jiang Mian raised her cuffed hands, the chain clinking.
She pointed to the corner of her left eye.
“Mine is light brown. Under strong light, it’s translucent—like amber.”
Her finger shifted, hovering over the printed mole.
“This one is pure black. Dead black. No light passes through. Like it was drawn on with a marker.”
She tilted her entire face upward, exposing herself directly under the brutal interrogation lamp.
The light slammed down. Her eyes watered instantly, long lashes clumping together as they trembled in the glare.
But she didn’t blink. Didn’t dodge. She let him see clearly—the light brown mole at her eye corner, faintly translucent under the light.
The old cop stared at her for three seconds.
Then lowered his head and pushed the photo under the lamp, almost pressing it to his glasses.
He looked.
For a long time.
So long the younger cop started tapping his pen impatiently.
Then—
The old cop’s finger paused, just barely, over one corner of the photo.
The blurry shadow of bushes in the upper-right corner.
Just 0.3 seconds.
Jiang Mian saw it.
[Passive Skill · Profiler’s Eye Activated]
Semi-transparent annotation boxes appeared in the edge of her vision—visible only to her:
The stagnant pool inside Jiang Mian’s chest stirred.
There was a crack.
She lowered her head again, lashes hiding the flash in her eyes.
“Chen Ming. Height 182 cm. Weight 75 kg. Solid build. Amateur boxing training,” she continued calmly, as if analyzing someone else’s case.
“To strike his occipital bone with a stone and cause instant incapacitation, based on average skull thickness and muscle buffering, the pressure at the point of impact would need to exceed eight kilograms per square centimeter.”
She lifted her slender wrist. The cuffs rattled, revealing pale skin and bluish veins beneath.
“I’m 167 cm. Forty-nine kilos. Chronically undernourished. My grip strength and arm strength records are with the Gu family doctor. My best record is lifting a ten-kilogram bag of rice.”
She locked eyes with the old cop.
“Even if I sprinted, jumped, and struck with everything I had, I couldn’t produce what the forensic report states—”
She paused, then spoke the number:
“—a wound depth of 4.2 centimeters. Am I right?”
The old cop’s pupils shrank.
He didn’t answer.
But his right hand unconsciously rubbed the corner of the case file.
A thinking habit.
Jiang Mian saw it.
That was confirmation.
[Live Stream Viewers: 897]
【IKnowThisPlot】: WHAT—how does she know the wound depth?! That number never appeared in the original!
【TruthNeeds8xZoom】: She’s doing biomechanical calculations?? This knowledge doesn’t fit the character!
【ArrogantWhitePeacock】: Wait… this girl’s got something. Can I change my bet?
【NewbieDon’tBlock】: From mole color to biomechanics—my scalp’s tingling.
【FrontlineGossip】: Interesting. Followed.
Act Three: Placing the Piece · Logic’s Counterkill
“So the real attacker,” Jiang Mian’s voice turned cold, like ice scraping glass,
“should have a fresh cut at the web of their right hand. The stone’s rough edge, recoil injury. Not deep, but bleeding. Because of the force angle, the wound would run diagonally toward the palm—about 1.5 to 2 centimeters long.”
As she spoke, her nose twitched slightly.
The room’s air was stale, but she’d caught a faint, discordant scent earlier. Now she focused—
Beneath rust, sweat, and coffee—
“Lemon,” she said.
“Individually packaged alcohol wipes. Used on wounds. The scented kind—fragrance lingers longer than iodine.”
She raised her eyes, scanning the old cop, the young cop—
Then the one-way mirror.
“Someone just came in to deliver materials, didn’t they?”
Her words hadn’t even finished—
Bang!
The door behind the one-way mirror burst open.
A man in auxiliary police uniform rushed out, clutching the web of his right hand. His face was paper-white. Two officers tackled him, slamming his face to the floor.
A sharp, cheap lemon disinfectant smell filled the air.
The old cop shot to his feet, chair legs screeching against concrete. He strode over, yanked a phone from the man’s pocket.
The screen was still lit.
Call in progress.
Contact name: “Miss Shen.”
Call duration: 4:37.
The call had been connected the entire time.
Everything in the interrogation room—
She’d heard it all.
The old cop’s face went iron-blue. His fingers crushed the phone case as he cut the call and tossed it to another officer.
“Collect evidence!”
Then he looked down at the struggling auxiliary officer, teeth grinding.
“Zhang Qiang. You really outdid yourself.”
Dragged up, handcuffed behind his back, Zhang Qiang glared viciously at Jiang Mian as he passed. His lips moved.
No sound.
But she read it.
Just you wait.
Jiang Mian watched him hauled away, expressionless.
[Live Stream Viewers: 2341]
【Dump the Scumbag】: HOLY SHIT—she actually nailed him?!
【TruthNeeds8xZoom】: Pixel density analysis too?! How does she even know that?!
【IKnowThisPlot】: The plot’s broken. Completely broken.
【Passerby】: THIS is the “evil supporting character”? What a waste if she’s not a detective.
【NewbieDon’tBlock】 sent Energy Drink ×1: Respect.
【MelonEater】: So Shen Yanxin really set it up? The call seals it.
【CommentaryCoach】: She’s only temporarily safe. Big boss hasn’t entered yet. Donate points—she needs resources.
The old cop returned and unlocked Jiang Mian’s cuffs.
The metal left her skin with a sharp, numb sting. Dark purple marks ringed her wrists, some broken and bleeding.
“You…” he looked at her injuries, expression complicated.
“Go to the rest room. This isn’t over—but you don’t need to stay here for now.”
Inside the light screen, the woman lifted her face.
Not in panic.
Not in tears.
Not begging for mercy.
She tilted her entire face upward, meeting the blinding interrogation lamp head-on. The light slammed down on her; her eyelashes were instantly soaked, physiological tears pooling in her eyes. But she kept them open. She didn’t dodge.
She was speaking. Her lips moved—no sound carried through, but the shapes were unmistakably clear:
“The mole’s color is wrong.”
Pei Yuyan’s scrolling finger froze in midair.
A 0.3-second pause.
For an observer, this was an error that should not exist.
He watched as she pointed out the color discrepancy of the mole, watched her break down biomechanics, watched her extract a faint trace of lemon from the murky air—logic chaining together like precision gears, interlocked flawlessly.
This was not a trajectory this “Jiang Mian” was supposed to have.
Data streams leapt beside the screen, displaying deviation values between the original plotline and her current behavior. The numbers began to climb.
Pei Yuyan did not look away.
He watched her bring Zhang Qiang down with half a bottle of water and a ballpoint pen. Watched her bluff—“I recorded everything.” Watched her take the police officer’s phone, dial a number, connect the call, and then—
Hang up.
No plea for help. No words spoken.
She simply allowed that number, at that exact moment, to appear once—on police equipment.
The fingers resting lightly on the armrest curled almost imperceptibly.
On the screen, Jiang Mian slid down the wall and sat on the floor. Surviving the ordeal, her hands were shaking—small, restrained tremors—but she clenched her fists hard, nails digging into her palms, using pain to force the trembling down.
Rationality and fragility coexisted within that slender body.
Contradictory.
But alive.
Pei Yuyan lowered his gaze to the main console.
D-7392’s stability value was dropping:
87.3% → 62.1% → 58.3%.
According to protocol, a warning should be submitted. Correction should be initiated.
His fingertips hovered above the red Mandatory Intervention button.
Then moved away.
He opened the energy interface and located a channel labeled “Observation Compensation”—normally a contingency plan used to sustain a dying protagonist’s final breath long enough to collect complete data.
He entered the command and dispatched 200 units of energy.
Not a large amount—just enough to purchase a bottle of hemostatic agent.
Reason?
He paused for half a second, then typed into the field:
“Sample behavior shows anomalous mutation. Disposal postponed. Continue observation.”
Send.
Energy pierced through dimensions and injected into Jiang Mian’s body.
On the screen, she jolted slightly, lowered her head, and touched her chest. A trace of confusion flickered through her eyes. She opened the system interface and stared at the 200 points that had appeared out of nowhere, her brows knitting—but she didn’t move.
She was suspicious.
Her first reaction to an unexplained gift was vigilance.
Pei Yuyan studied her expression in silence.
Then he raised his hand and shut off every indicator light on the main console.
Next, he turned off all the other light screens.
Click. Click. Click.
Tens of thousands of screens went dark in succession, like a grand meteor shower returning to silence. At last, the boundless observation space sank into pure darkness.
Only one screen remained lit at the center.
Cold white light spilled from D-7392’s live feed, becoming the sole light source in the dark. It illuminated Pei Yuyan’s face as his eyes fixed on the woman leaning against the wall on-screen, eyes closed, breathing steadily.
Outside the window, dawn slowly brightened. The shadows of iron bars crept across her face.
He watched for a long time.
So long that the sky on-screen shifted from pitch-black to deep blue, and the first dog bark echoed from below.
Then he leaned back into his chair, hands folded on his knees—relaxed, yet still upright.
He did not look at any other world.
Did not check any other data.
He simply sat before the one remaining light preserved for him alone, his gaze quietly resting on the low-dimensional world labeled D-7392—on the woman who was meant to be a “vicious supporting character,” yet now pushed up like wild grass, sprouting from a crack in absolute despair.
Darkness wrapped around him.
The screen’s light flickered in his eyes.
Like a watcher of the endless night, seeing—for the first time, at its deepest point—a star that refused to go out.
Five in the morning. The sky had not fully brightened.
Jiang Mian was escorted out of the police station and into an unmarked black sedan. The old detective drove; the young officer sat in the passenger seat. The ride was silent.
After half an hour, the car stopped at the entrance of an old residential complex. Six-story buildings, peeling exterior walls, with withered ivy crawling over half the façade.
“Third floor. 301.” The old detective handed her a key. “Arranged by Mr. Fu. Don’t worry—it’s clean.”
Jiang Mian took the key. The cold metal teeth scraped across her palm.
“And Shen Yanxin…?”
“She’s been summoned. Lawyer present. Nothing came out,” the old detective said, lighting a cigarette as smoke filled the car. “Zhang Qiang insists he acted alone. Says he couldn’t stand you bullying Miss Shen. The evidence chain’s broken.”
He flicked ash aside and glanced at her. “But you’re safe for now. The Gu family—at least on the surface—won’t touch you again.”
Jiang Mian nodded and stepped out.
Cold wind swept over her. She tightened the old coat borrowed from the station and entered the stairwell.
Third floor. 301.
The key turned. The door opened.
One bedroom, one living room. Old, but clean. Simple furniture. Polished wooden floors. A faint scent of mothballs in the air. She checked every room—no cameras, no listening devices, intact window locks.
She went to the window and lifted the curtain slightly.
The sky was shifting from ink-black to deep blue, the distant horizon edged with a razor-thin line of gold. An elderly man walked his dog downstairs. The dog barked twice, then fell quiet.
The warmth of ordinary life.
She was still alive.
Her phone vibrated. She pulled it from her pocket—the original owner’s phone, the latest model, rose-gold, its case covered in rhinestones. The screen lit up with a bank message:
“Account ending 3476 balance: 12,683.47 yuan.”
Everything she had.
Poor.
But alive.
She went into the bathroom, turned on the tap, and splashed cold water onto her face.
Freezing. Sharp enough to make her skin tighten.
She looked up at the mirror.
The face reflected there was pale, dark circles heavy beneath her eyes, lips drained of color. But her eyes were frighteningly bright—clear, calm, with a ruthless edge forged by being driven into a corner.
Her hair was a mess, damp strands clinging to her cheeks.
She raised a hand, tucked her hair behind her ear, revealing her whole face.
“Jiang Mian,” she said to her reflection, voice low and echoing in the empty bathroom, “welcome to this goddamn world.”
After a pause, she added:
“Live well.”
[Live Room Viewers: 5103]
【Dump the Scumbag】: I switched sides. This sister’s legit. When things go down, she really steps up! That pen stab made my thigh hurt in sympathy!
【TruthNeeds8xZoom】: Logic monster + hands-on fighter. Love it. But Shen Yanxin’s evidence chain collapsed—there’s definitely more coming.
【NewbieDon’tBlock】: What’s next? The engagement banquet? Only 71 hours left—this is tense.
【CuteDudu】: Just came from Shen Yanxin’s stream next door. They’re roasting her, calling her fake-innocent acting trash. Hilarious.
【FrontlineMelon】: So where did those 200 points come from? System bug? Or some hidden mechanism?
【BulletChatCoach】: Doesn’t look like a bug. The timing and dosage were too precise—like a high-dimensional being intervened. Interesting.
【LogicSmashCat】: Reminder—save your points. The engagement banquet is the real hell arena.
Nine in the morning. Sunlight finally poured through the window, casting a bright patch on the floor.
Jiang Mian sat on the sofa, paper and pen spread out before her.
She organized information.
Identity: Jiang Mian, 24. Adopted daughter of the Gu family (in reality, marginalized). Former fiancée (abandoned). Suspected of hiring an assault (framed).
Enemies: Shen Yanxin (mastermind), certain members of the Gu family (unclear stance), unknown hidden hand (possibly linked to her parents’ deaths).
Allies: Uncertain. Fu Chenyì (old family acquaintance, provided shelter, neutral stance).
Resources: 12,000 yuan cash, 200 system points, skill Profiler’s Eye Lv.1, unknown “live-room audience.”
Crisis: Gu–Shen engagement banquet in 71 hours (system mission: leave unscathed).
Mysteries: True cause of her parents’ deaths. Her father’s vague legacy. The real purpose behind the Gu family’s “adoption.”
She stopped writing and looked out the window.
Three days later. Sunday night. Gu family estate. Engagement banquet.
Crystal chandeliers. Champagne towers. Silk and jewels. All eyes watching.
Shen Yanxin would be in a million-yuan custom gown, arm linked with Gu Xingye, smiling as she raised a glass at Jiang Mian.
Another battlefield. More glamorous. More brutal.
She had to go.
A knock sounded—three taps, neither heavy nor light.
Jiang Mian tensed instantly, went to the door, and peered through the peephole.
A delivery runner in uniform stood outside, holding a paper bag.
“Miss Jiang? Your breakfast.”
“I didn’t order.”
“A Mr. Fu ordered it. Paid already.” He set the bag down. “Enjoy your meal.”
Footsteps faded downstairs.
After waiting a full minute, Jiang Mian opened the door and brought the bag inside.
Inside: a still-warm bowl of century egg and lean pork congee, a basket of soup dumplings, a cup of soy milk. At the bottom lay a folded note—no signature, just a single printed line:
“Third floor, east unit. Elderly man living alone. Hard of hearing. Kind. Usable.”
Fu Chenyì.
Thorough—but distant. No appearance. No handwriting. Only the bare minimum protection.
Jiang Mian sat and ate slowly. The soft congee and savory meat warmed her stomach, grounding her in the reality of being alive.
Her phone vibrated again.
An unfamiliar number.
She opened it.
A photo.
The Gu family estate’s banquet hall under preparation. Workers hung a massive, multi-tiered crystal chandelier. In the background corner, Shen Yanxin stood sideways, speaking to Butler Chen, who held a tablet displaying what looked like circuit diagrams.
Attached message:
“Watch the chandelier. Circuit C7. Control switch behind the third storage cabinet in the service corridor. At the banquet, you’ll be ‘arranged’ to stand beneath it.”
The sender’s number was a string of乱码.
Jiang Mian stared at the message, fingertips turning cold.
Watch the chandelier.
Circuit number. Control switch. Assigned position.
Not an accident.
A meticulously planned accident.
If that chandelier—hundreds of kilograms—fell in full public view…
She deleted the message. Her fingers were steady, but when she set the phone down, her fingertips tapped the wooden table twice—an unconscious habit that surfaced only when she was intensely focused or sensed danger.
She opened the system interface and looked at the 200 points.
Time to use them.
She tapped the skill list. Profiler’s Eye indeed had an upgrade option.
Lv.1 → Lv.2
Cost: 200 points
Upgrade effects: Enhanced detail capture (micron-level anomalies), increased environmental clue association, slight boost to information-processing speed.
No hesitation.
Upgrade.
Points dropped to zero.
The skill icon glowed faint gold, then stabilized.
Almost simultaneously, her perception sharpened. Dust motes in the air, the rhythm of leaves swaying outside, even the subtle cadence of her own heartbeat—everything became… clearer.
Not better eyesight.
A better brain.
She went to the window and looked down at the elderly man who had just returned from walking his dog.
Annotations surfaced automatically at the edge of her vision:
Male, approx. 68–72. Height ~168 cm. Light build. Old injury in right leg (slight limp). Owns a dog (golden retriever, elderly, ~10 years, left hind leg joint issue). Carrying soy milk and fried dough. Relaxed expression. Low security awareness (access card visible at waist, keys jingling).
Information flowed naturally, effortlessly.
This was Lv.2.
She drew the curtains, returned to the sofa, tore the written notes into pieces, and flushed them away.
Then she opened a shopping app and placed an order:
Total: 681
Remaining balance: 12,002.47
Poor—comfortingly so.
But as she stared at the screen, her grip tightened.
Still not enough.
She needed information—venue layouts, staff arrangements, the web of relationships between the Gu and Shen families. Money couldn’t buy that. But system points might.
As the thought crossed her mind, an incoming call took over the screen.
No name—but she recognized the number.
Gu Xingye.
She stared at it for five full seconds until it stopped ringing.
The screen went dark.
Then lit up again.
Same number.
She picked up, walked to the window, and answered without speaking.
After two seconds of silence, Gu Xingye’s low, restrained voice came through, tinged with impatience.
“Jiang Mian.”
“Mm.”
“Heard you’re out. Sunday night—my engagement banquet with Yanxin. You know.”
“I know.”
“Come.” A command, not an invitation. “Dress properly. Don’t embarrass the Gu family. As for what happened before… let’s pretend it never happened. Yanxin’s generous. She won’t hold it against you.”
Jiang Mian looked at the withered ivy outside the window, her voice calm.
“Alright.”
He seemed surprised by her easy agreement, paused, then softened slightly. “Good. Don’t cause trouble.”
The call ended.
The busy tone echoed.
She lowered the phone and looked downstairs.
A black Maybach rolled slowly into the old complex, absurdly out of place. The door opened. A man in a suit stepped out, lifted his head, and precisely located the 301 window.
The Gu family.
Here to “confirm” her obedience—or apply pressure.
Jiang Mian pulled the curtains shut, cutting off the gaze.
Her palm was damp with a thin layer of sweat from the call.
She opened her hand and studied the lines.
In her mind, the system countdown ticked silently:
[Time until engagement banquet: 70:58:12]
[Live Room Viewers: 6821]
【Dump the Scumbag】: Gu trash called! What kind of garbage line is “Yanxin’s generous, won’t hold it against you”? I’ll hold it against your ancestors!
【TruthNeeds8xZoom】: She agreed too easily—now Gu Xingye’s suspicious. That car downstairs is surveillance.
【NewbieDon’tBlock】 donated Energy Drink ×1: Toss some points her way. This is rough—she needs intel.
【MelonNoSpit】: “Watch the chandelier”… brutal. This is an arranged “accidental death.” Think fast!
【LogicSmashCat】: Information asymmetry is key. She needs a one-time intel pack.
【BulletChatCoach】: The points shop has “Scene Preview (One-Time)”—300 points. Current balance: 0.
【Anonymous User】 donated Energy Infusion ×10: Live. Go to the banquet.
In the darkness, the light screen still glowed.
Pei Yuyan watched Jiang Mian draw the curtains, shutting out the view below. Watched her open her palm, saw the thin sheen of sweat, then watched her clench her fist.
He watched the system countdown ticking in the corner of the screen.
Then he raised his hand and pulled up the schedule for World D-7392.
Three days later. Sunday night. Gu family estate. Engagement banquet.
He tapped lightly and marked the date with a red reminder, setting an observation alert.
After doing so, he paused almost imperceptibly.
—This was not part of an observer’s required duties. Marking a schedule meant he had placed an event in this low-dimensional world onto his personal watchlist.
But he did not undo it.
He closed the schedule, leaned back again, and returned his gaze to the screen.
On-screen, Jiang Mian sat by the bed, picked up her cheap new phone, and began searching:
“Crystal chandelier structure”
“Common causes of circuit failure”
“Banquet hall emergency escape routes”
Her profile was calm and focused in the glow of the screen.
Outside, daylight filtered through a crack in the curtains, casting a thin, bright line across her body.
Like a blade.
Or like the only light slipping through a裂缝— into a world on the brink.