The contents of the Discipline of Sorrow were... profound.
As someone who had experienced his own share of grief, Soren found it easy to slip into the first pilot's shoes. There was something strangely intimate about it—finding a voice from the past that understood pain the way he did. It was a rare, almost comforting feeling to discover someone he could truly relate to.
However, no matter how deep and moving the journal was, exhaustion crept in. His eyes grew heavy, weighed down by the slow seduction of sleep.
Soon, he could not hold back anymore; his head fell back.
However, unknown to Soren and Cynthia, a guest had made its way into their room.
There was no metallic clicking of the locks or forced entry.
In fact, this uninvited guest had come through that vertical slit on the door.
Slow.
Silent.
Slippery.
Finding Soren's bed in the middle of the night like they already knew.
They mounted his bed.
Soren felt the weight, subtle at first.
Heavier.
