The room is dim and close, lit by a single lamp casting long shadows across the floor. Sable stands at the center of it, her ribbons — dark and restless — coiled tight around her forearms, her wrists, her shoulders. They shift like something breathing. Like something straining. She has held everyone together for years with those ribbons. Caught falling things. Built walls no one asked her to build. You watched her do it and never said stop. Tonight something finally gave. She hasn't looked at you yet. But you're the only one still here.