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Arun realized he could not out-barter the thing; there was always another piece it could take: moments he had considered trivial, fragments he had thought long gone. That night Mira called him into the living room. He walked in and froze: on the TV, a paused frame of the two of them on a subway platform years ago—an exchange of gloves, the way her hand brushed his. The ticker at the bottom read: House Rules — No witnesses.