A folklore horror chapter where birds mark time, absence sharpens attention, and the night opens without warning. After Latch’s death, He finds the old understandings have not faded but deepened—lodged in habit, movement, and the hours before dawn.

Guided by the quiet lore of birds and the patterns they reveal without explaining, He walks familiar streets at 2:13 a.m., moving along a route that feels remembered rather than chosen. In an alley behind a pub, alignment completes itself. The nightjar appears—not as omen, but as correction. Horror arrives softly, without struggle, leaving only the sense that the dark has reclaimed what already belonged to it.

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