Splinter View: Chapter 7 — November 21, 2025

CHAPTER 7 — “Night Prep”

Night seals itself against the cabin glass, a velvet hush broken only by the faint tick of cooling pipes.

Upstairs, the loft bedroom glows under a single bedside lamp—my chosen foxhole.

I spread equipment across the quilt like ritual objects: field notebook, laser rangefinder, portable recorder, spare batteries.

The cleaver from the kitchen—cleaned, towel-wrapped—rests at the center.

“Just in case—data knife,” I mutter.

I slide the blade beneath the pillow, handle angled for a right-hand draw.

Logical precaution, no more superstitious than a lab coat.

Mika circles twice at the foot of the bed, finally curling into a tight comma.

Her ears twitch toward every creak, but her eyes stay half-lidded, watching even in doze.

I reach down, scratch behind one ear until the muscle slackens.

Phone checks: battery full, emergency dial preset.

Laptop set to hibernate with the anomaly recorder running.

Motion-cam app open, all feeds green.

I jot a last note in the field book:

Start soil-light sampling 0600. Evaluate chime resonance vs. ambient temp.

“Mechanical, not mystical—repeat until it feels true.”

Lamp off.

Darkness swells, edged by blue moonlight through the dormer window.

The deck door three meters below is a black rectangle in my peripheral vision.

I settle back, fingers brushing the pillow’s hidden weight.

On the bookshelf across the room, the security cam’s tiny LED flickers red—once, twice.

Then it snaps back to green, too quick, too deliberate.

Mika’s ears twitch.

I don’t see it.

Science can’t explain a feeling, but feelings don’t set traps.

I do.

░░ MONITORING RESPONSE ░░