amygdala stories: relabel + strengthen weak-signal concepts

Reread each story asking "what does this convey to me?" Found two
clear mislabels and several concepts with too few positives for
stable PCA:

  tender: only 1 story, and it was anticipatory grief (care for
    a dying dog), not tender. Moved to anticipatory_grief.txt as
    its own concept. Rewrote tender.txt + added 2 paired tender
    stories (the_doorway, the_undressing) — directed softness,
    gentle-by-nature, not gentle-because-fragile.

  bitter: letter_in_drawer/bitter was disillusioned / processed
    hurt ("did not slam the drawer"), not bitter. Rewrote it with
    actual sour grudge. Added the_long_meeting/bitter (watching
    colleague take credit for your reassigned work).

  peaceful: 1 story → 4 (added stories/peaceful.txt + paired
    park_after_rain, sunday_afternoon).

  onto_something: all 3 stories were code epiphanies, narrowing
    the concept. Added stories/onto_something.txt with a non-code
    pattern-click (sales-demo causing churn).

  terrified: 2 stories, both "waiting for bad news." Added
    kitchen_at_3am/terrified — acute threat-in-the-house terror.

training/amygdala_stories/stories/anticipatory_grief.txt

@@ -0,0 +1 @@
+The old dog's back legs had been worse this week, and she was gentle with him getting up onto the couch — lifting his rear end the last few inches, her hand under his ribs the way she'd learned didn't hurt him. He sighed as he settled and she pressed her forehead against his and stayed there a minute. His breath was warm on her face. She rubbed his ear, the soft floppy one he liked, with the exact slowness that meant to him what it meant. She was not yet ready to think about the fact that this was a finite number of times. Right now it was just this, his ear, her hand, the afternoon.

training/amygdala_stories/stories/onto_something.txt

@@ -0,0 +1 @@
+She had been staring at the spreadsheet most of the afternoon. Something about the Tuesday-morning churn numbers wasn't right, but each time she tried to make it a thing it would scatter. She refilled her coffee and came back and opened the call-schedule tab next to it, and then she saw it — the Tuesday spikes tracked the sales-demo block exactly. Every Tuesday morning the demo team had been pulling leads that were already halfway to churn. Six months of pouring water into a bucket with a hole. She sat down and started writing the email.

training/amygdala_stories/stories/peaceful.txt

@@ -0,0 +1 @@
+The lake at six in the morning was perfectly still. He sat on the dock with his coffee and his bare feet just above the water. A single loon called from somewhere across, and was answered. Mist lifted off the surface in slow columns. He was not waiting for anything. He was not hurrying through anything. The lake, the light, the warmth of the coffee against his palms — it was all one thing, and he was in it.

training/amygdala_stories/stories/tender.txt

@@ -1 +1 @@
-The old dog's back legs had been worse this week, and she was gentle with him getting up onto the couch — lifting his rear end the last few inches, her hand under his ribs the way she'd learned didn't hurt him. He sighed as he settled and she pressed her forehead against his and stayed there a minute. His breath was warm on her face. She rubbed his ear, the soft floppy one he liked, with the exact slowness that meant to him what it meant. She was not yet ready to think about the fact that this was a finite number of times. Right now it was just this, his ear, her hand, the afternoon.
+Her hair had come loose in her sleep and one strand was between her parted lips, moving slightly with her breathing. He hooked it gently with one finger and lifted it away, the backs of his knuckles grazing her cheek. She did not wake. He stayed with his hand there a moment longer than he needed to, feeling the warmth coming off her skin, then got up carefully and went to start the coffee. He was trying not to make any noise.