Dawn arrived with thin gray light filtering through the shutters, illuminating dust motes swirling in the quiet air. Nyelle sat cross-legged on her straw mattress, watching Aerik pull on his boots for another day at the tannery. Three days had passed since her Reset—three days of cautious testing, cataloging her foreknowledge while establishing subtle differences in this new timeline.
She'd avoided Lord Greymoor entirely. The lesson of her flogging and death remained too visceral, too raw to risk repeating. Instead, she'd focused on small manipulations that improved the Harringers' circumstances. Torvald's guard position had been the first success. Now she had her sights set on extracting Aerik from the toxic environment of the tannery.
"You should stop by Master Hemings' shop today," she suggested, keeping her tone casual. "He mentioned needing help with his quarterly inventory."
Aerik paused, leather boot half-laced. "You've spoken with Master Hemings?"
"At the market two days ago. He was complaining about finding someone who understands both leather grades and basic arithmetic." Another carefully crafted lie based on information she'd gathered in her previous timeline. "I might have mentioned my clever brother."
Aerik's skeptical expression softened slightly. "Hemings pays his assistants nearly twice what I make at the tannery," he admitted. "But he doesn't hire apprentices from the Lower Quarter."
"What's the harm in trying?" Nyelle countered, echoing her successful argument with Torvald. "Worst case, nothing changes."
After a moment's consideration, Aerik nodded. "I'll stop by after my shift." He finished lacing his boots, then studied her with narrowed eyes. "You've been different since your fever."
The observation sent a flutter of alarm through Nyelle. Aerik's perceptiveness remained a double-edged sword—useful when she directed it outward, dangerous when turned toward her.
"I just want things to be better for us," she said, allowing genuine emotion to color her voice. The sentiment wasn't entirely false—the Harringers' welfare had become surprisingly important to her.
"Well, whatever fever dreams changed you, I'm not complaining about the results." Aerik ruffled her hair as he passed. "Just don't get too clever for your own good, little phantom."
After Aerik departed and Elina left for her seamstress work at Lady Meredith's, Nyelle found herself alone in the small house. The rare privacy provided perfect opportunity for her most important experiment yet.
She needed to understand more about Reset—specifically, whether she could speak about it to others. The mysterious voice in the darkness had named the ability, suggesting it had rules and purpose beyond merely returning her to life.
Aerik would be her test subject. Of all the Harringers, he was most likely to believe something extraordinary, having already noted changes in her behavior. If she could explain Reset to him, perhaps together they could explore its implications and limitations.
The plan formed as she tidied the breakfast dishes. She would intercept Aerik on his lunch break, lead him somewhere private, and carefully explain what she had experienced. His practical mind might see applications she hadn't considered.
By midday, Nyelle had positioned herself near the tannery's side entrance where workers emerged for their meal break. The familiar stench of urine, lime, and animal flesh permeated the area—the unavoidable miasma of leather production. Workers streamed out, their clothes and skin stained with the chemicals of their trade.
Aerik appeared, blinking in the sunlight. He spotted Nyelle immediately, frowning in surprise.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, crossing to where she waited. "Mother knows you hate the tannery smell."
"I need to talk to you," she replied. "Somewhere private. It's important."
Curiosity replaced concern on his face. "Important enough to brave eau de tannery?" When she nodded, he shrugged. "There's a quiet spot by the ash piles where no one goes during break."
He led her around the building to a secluded corner where wood ash from the tanning process was collected for soap makers. The acrid smell masked some of the tannery's worst odors, making the location marginally more tolerable.
"So what's this important talk?" Aerik asked, unwrapping a cloth-covered bread chunk that constituted his lunch.
Nyelle took a deep breath, organizing her thoughts. How to explain something so impossible without sounding insane?
"Do you trust me?" she began.
"Usually not when you start conversations that way," he replied with a half-smile, "but generally, yes."
"I need to tell you something that will sound impossible." She met his eyes directly. "But I swear on Mother's life it's the truth."
Aerik's expression sobered. Invoking Elina was a serious matter in their household. "I'm listening."
"I died three days ago," Nyelle said, the words emerging in a rush. "Lord Greymoor caught me running a scheme against him, and the city watch captured me. They flogged me in the central square. I died on the ninth lash."
"That fever affected you worse than we—" he began, but Nyelle cut him off.
"I can prove it. I know things I couldn't possibly know otherwise." She leaned forward intently. "The day after my reset, you mentioned meeting Marta from the Greymoor house at the tannery. But in this timeline, I never told you about Marta. I only knew her in my previous life before I died."
Aerik's brow furrowed. "You must have mentioned her before your fever—"
"Master Hemings needs an assistant who understands both leather grades and accounting. I knew this before anyone told me in this timeline. I knew about Captain Denevar expanding the dock guard force before Father confirmed it."
She could see doubt wavering in his eyes, uncertainty replacing outright disbelief.
"Even if this were somehow true," Aerik said slowly, "why tell me?"
"Because I need to understand how it works," Nyelle replied, relieved he hadn't simply dismissed her as delusional. "The reset point might advance as time passes. I need to know the rules and limitations. I need help figuring out why this is happening to me."
Something in Aerik's expression shifted—not quite belief, but a willingness to at least consider the impossible. Nyelle pressed her advantage.
"I think I was given this ability for a reason. Return by D—"
Pain exploded in her chest.
Nyelle gasped, the words dying in her throat as invisible pressure crushed her heart. Her vision darkened at the edges, her lungs straining for air that wouldn't come. She clutched at her chest, fingers clawing at the sudden agony.
Dimly, she registered Aerik's panicked face, his hands reaching for her as she collapsed to her knees. The pressure intensified—a cold, implacable force squeezing her heart until it felt ready to burst.
Through the haze of pain, Nyelle perceived something else—a presence, vast and watchful and utterly inhuman. Shadowy tendrils materialized around her, visible yet insubstantial, constricting with terrible purpose.
"Nyelle!" Aerik's voice sounded distant despite his face being inches from hers. "What's wrong? What's happening?"
She couldn't answer. The pressure redoubled, darkness flooding her vision as her heart struggled against the crushing force. A final agonizing contraction ripped through her chest, and Nyelle felt the exact moment her heart burst within her ribcage.
Death claimed her for the second time.
"—and sending you to Master Hemings today."
The words hung in the air, precisely as she'd spoken them moments before. Nyelle froze, the phantom pain of her destroyed heart still echoing through her body though no physical evidence remained. She stood before Aerik in the exact same spot, the conversation reset to the point just before she'd tried to explain Return by Death.
"I'm listening." Aerik said, exactly as before.
Terror seized her. Whatever had crushed her heart would do so again if she continued trying to explain. The shadowy presence had enforced its rule with lethal efficiency—no warning, no mercy, just immediate execution.
"I—I can't explain," she stammered, cold sweat breaking across her skin. "I thought I could tell you, but I can't."
Aerik frowned, confusion replacing his nascent belief. "Tell me what? You're not making sense, Nyelle."
"Please," she whispered, trembling with the aftermath of her second death, "just trust that I know things. Important things. But I can't explain how or why."
"You're scaring me," Aerik said, reaching for her forehead. "Is the fever back? You're pale as moonlight."
"I'm fine," she insisted, stepping back from his touch. "Forget I said anything. This was a mistake."
"Nyelle—"
"I have to go." She turned and fled, leaving Aerik staring after her in bewilderment.
She ran blindly through Yorkton's streets, panic driving her forward until her lungs burned and her legs trembled with exhaustion. Finally, in a deserted alley behind the chandler's shop, she collapsed against a wall, sliding down to sit on the dirty cobblestones.
Gasping for breath, Nyelle pressed her hands against her chest, reassuring herself that her heart beat normally again. The shadowy presence had vanished along with the pain, but the message remained unmistakable: Return by Death could not be shared.
"A rule," she whispered to herself. "The first rule."
The implications were staggering. Return by Death wasn't simply an ability—it was a governed system with enforced limitations. Something or someone was watching, monitoring her actions and words, ready to kill her for violations.
And if there was one rule, there might be others.
Nyelle closed her eyes, forcing her breathing to slow as she methodically analyzed what had happened. She'd died the moment she'd tried to explain Return by Death to Aerik. The reset had returned her to a point mere seconds before the violation, allowing her to correct course.
But why? What purpose did such a restriction serve?
As her panic subsided, strategic implications began forming in her mind. If she couldn't tell others about Return by Death, she'd need to find indirect ways to leverage her foreknowledge. Suggestions instead of explanations. Guidance without revealing the source of her insights.
It would limit her options significantly. She'd hoped to recruit Aerik as an ally in understanding her ability, perhaps even planning strategic deaths to acquire specific information. Now such collaboration was impossible.
When her legs finally stopped trembling, Nyelle pushed herself upright and began the long walk home. Her experiment had yielded crucial data, albeit at the cost of another death. Return by Death had rules, enforced with lethal consequence. She couldn't speak of it directly to others.
But perhaps she could test the boundaries of this rule. How specific was the prohibition? Could she mention death without triggering punishment? Could she allude to foreknowledge without explaining its source?
Back at the Harringer home, Nyelle sat alone at the kitchen table, a scrap of parchment before her. She needed to explore the limits systematically, starting with the most indirect references.
"I have knowledge of future events," she whispered to the empty room.
Nothing happened. No pressure in her chest, no shadowy presence.
"I have died before," she tried next, tensing in anticipation of pain.
Again, nothing. The statement alone wasn't enough to trigger punishment.
"I can return after death to a specific point in time."
A warning twinge fluttered in her chest—not the crushing agony of before, but a clear signal that she approached dangerous territory. The specificity seemed to be the trigger.
For the next hour, Nyelle carefully tested variations of statements, noting exactly which phrasings caused warning sensations and which remained safe. The pattern became clear: she could reference foreknowledge vaguely, even mention dying in general terms, but any statement connecting death to her ability to return or reset triggered consequences. The phrase "Return by Death" itself appeared particularly forbidden—even thinking it deliberately caused a mild constriction in her chest.
By the time Elina returned from her day's work, Nyelle had established the boundaries of her restriction. She couldn't tell others about Return by Death directly, but she could leverage the knowledge it provided if she was careful about how she presented it.
"You look thoughtful," Elina observed as she set down her sewing basket. "Everything all right?"
"Just working through a puzzle," Nyelle replied, carefully concealing the scrap of parchment where she'd recorded her findings in a simple code.
That evening, Aerik returned with unexpected news—Master Hemings had offered him a trial position maintaining inventory records and assessing leather quality for incoming shipments. The position paid nearly twice his tannery wages and offered the possibility of advancement to assistant manager if he proved capable.
"I can't believe he agreed so quickly," Aerik marveled during dinner. "He said he'd been looking for someone with exactly my combination of skills for months."
"Your brother has always had a head for numbers," Torvald said proudly. "The tannery was wasting your talents."
Nyelle smiled quietly, satisfaction warming her chest despite the day's traumatic discoveries. Her foreknowledge continued to improve the Harringers' circumstances, even with the newfound limitations on sharing her ability.
Later that night, as the household settled into sleep, Nyelle lay on her straw mattress contemplating the implications of the rule she'd discovered. The prohibition against sharing Return by Death suggested the ability was meant for her alone—a personal tool rather than something to be used collaboratively.
But why? What purpose did such an ability serve if not to be shared?
The obvious answer was that Return by Death made her uniquely powerful, able to learn from fatal mistakes and correct course in ways no one else could. But power rarely came without purpose, at least in Nirei's experience. Someone or something had granted this ability with specific intent.
As she drifted toward sleep, Nyelle made a decision. She would continue testing the boundaries of Return by Death—not through reckless suicide, but through careful exploration of its rules and limitations. She would leverage her foreknowledge to improve the Harringers' circumstances while seeking to understand the true purpose behind her impossible ability.
Whatever entity had crushed her heart to enforce its rule was watching her, judging her actions against some unknown standard. Understanding that standard might be the key to understanding why Nirei Harringer had awakened in Nyelle's body with the power to transcend death itself.
The next morning, Aerik caught her alone before leaving for his new position with Master Hemings.
"About yesterday," he said, his expression troubled. "You were trying to tell me something important, weren't you? Something you felt you couldn't explain."
Nyelle chose her words with extreme care. "I know things sometimes. Things I shouldn't be able to know. But I can't explain how or why." She met his eyes steadily. "Can you trust me anyway?"
Aerik studied her face for a long moment. "The fever changed you," he said finally. "But not necessarily for the worse." He squeezed her shoulder gently. "Just be careful with whatever this is, little phantom."
As he left, Nyelle touched her chest where the shadowy force had crushed her heart. But now that she understood the first rule of Return by Death, she could navigate its restrictions more safely.
She would need to be more careful, more subtle in how she applied her foreknowledge. But the fundamental advantage remained: she could die and return, learning from fatal mistakes without permanent consequence.
It was a power Nirei would have sacrificed anything to possess in his original life—the ultimate insurance against failure. Now that she had it, Nyelle intended to master its usage completely, rule by rule, reset by reset.
Even if she could never explain it to another living soul.