There is a particular kind of reader experience that never announces itself clearly. The reader doesn't stop and think, 'the character was wearing boots in the last chapter but now she's barefoot.' They just feel vaguely wrong about the scene. Something is slightly off, like a painting hung two degrees crooked. They keep reading, but some small trust has been broken, and by the end of the book they can't quite say why the whole thing felt a little hollow. Chapter breaks are where this erosion happens most reliably, because chapter breaks are where writers restart. A new document section, a new creative burst, sometimes a new day in the writer's life entirely. The context that lived in working memory evaporates. The AI assistant, if one is being used, has no persistent recall of what came before unless it is explicitly given that information. The result is a subtle but cumulative drift: details that were established with care in earlier scenes float loose and disappear, or worse, contradict themselves quietly enough that neither writer nor tool catches the problem until a reader does.