Leia turned the page slowly.
Each diagram in the black-thread book was rough but careful — like the person who drew them knew what mattered wasn't art, but function. One sketch showed a looped weave, layered with arrows and strange inked characters.
The title beside it read:
Snare-Stitch. Triggerable. Thread tension: emotional or physical.
Leia frowned. "Thread can react to emotion?"
She looked at her wrist. The mark — needle and thread — still sat dark and quiet.
But she remembered.
That time when the bucket had moved before she meant to.
That wasn't magic.
That was feeling.
---
She gathered supplies from the scraps — torn cords, dry cloth, and a thin strand she had soaked in ashwater the night before. It made the thread stiffer, more responsive.
She set the loop.
One thread tied to a rusted nail, another coiled lightly between two crates in the alley behind their shelter. She whispered her intent:
"Bind."
It didn't glow.
But it held.
Then she stepped back — far enough that the setup could sit unnoticed, like part of the alley's mess.
She watched.
And waited.
---
She didn't expect the first to trigger it to be a child.
A boy ran down the alley — chased by someone, carrying a stolen apple. Leia stood quickly, ready to pull the trap loose, but it was too late.
The thread snapped up — quick, thin, and harmless — wrapping around the boy's ankle. He tripped forward, the apple rolling into the dirt.
"Ugh—!" he cried, clutching his knee.
Leia rushed forward, guilt prickling. "I'm sorry! I didn't think anyone— Are you okay?"
The boy scowled. "What is this?"
He tugged at the thread.
It melted away, untying like smoke.
The boy blinked. "You… used that ability?"
Leia nodded slowly.
He didn't laugh.
He just looked at her hand. "You could trip anyone with that."
Then he ran.
---
Later that day, Leia re-set the trap. This time, she adjusted the emotional trigger.
She thought of fear.
Of being hunted.
Of her mother's face when the guards dragged them out of the Crows' estate.
The thread pulsed faintly.
Later, a stray cat crossed through the alley — untouched.
But when a loud drunk stumbled near the crates, shouting curses and threats?
The thread flicked up again — a soft snap, a trip, a grunt.
The man swore, glared at the crates, and hobbled away.
Leia's lips twitched upward. Not quite a smile.
But close.
---
That night, Selene stirred awake.
Leia was sewing in silence, as always — but there was something different in the room.
"You're glowing again," Selene whispered, voice hoarse with sleep.
Leia looked down.
The thread on her wrist wasn't glowing — but the black book on her lap shimmered softly, just at the edges.
"Just practicing," Leia said gently.
Selene sat up, rubbed her eyes. "You're not planning something dangerous, are you?"
Leia hesitated.
"No," she said. "I'm planning something useful."
---
Later, she stitched a square into the lining of her cloak — the same snare technique, but inverted. Instead of outward tension, it would pull in if someone touched her from behind.
She didn't know if it would work yet.
But it felt ready.
---
At the edge of sleep, she whispered to the symbol on her wrist.
"I'm not strong. I know that."
She touched the cloak, the book, the tiny loop of snare thread in her pocket.
"But I'm getting ready. Stitch by stitch."