I didn’t sleep.

Not because I was calm—
because my brain didn’t know which part of the chaos to panic about first.

The flashes of distortion.
The Abyssals acting like they were reading me.
Emilia’s warning.
That pull in my chest that wasn’t going away.

I sat on the edge of the bed until the sky turned pale.

Patch watched me from the table,
tilting his head like he was waiting for me to stop pretending nothing was happening.

“…Alright,” I muttered.
“Fine. Let’s try again.”

I closed my eyes
and focused on the center of my chest.

The familiar sensation surfaced almost instantly—
a faint, electric thread
stretching from somewhere inside me
toward something I couldn’t see.

Not pain.
Not pleasant.
Just wrong in a way that wasn’t hostile…
but intentional.

I followed it with my mind,
like tracing a wire in the dark.

It responded.

The room thickened around me,
air squeezing closer,
sound flattening like someone lowered the world’s volume.

My heartbeat echoed in my throat.

Then it happened.

A tight flick of distortion cut through my vision—
not random,
but centered where I focused.

(0.16 seconds.)

My shadow lagged behind the real me
just long enough to confirm it wasn’t a fluke.

I inhaled sharply.

“…So it’s not just the environment,” I whispered.
“It’s me.”

Patch’s ears shot up.
He stared—not at the distortion,
but straight at me,
as if noticing something shifting under my skin.

The pressure built again,
clearer, heavier.

I pushed back against it.

The delay stuttered.
Reality strained like stretched fabric—
then snapped back.

My legs nearly buckled.
I grabbed the edge of the desk to stay upright,
breathing hard.

Okay.
That was close.
Way too close.

I wiped sweat from my forehead.

“Control… right?” I told myself quietly.
“If this thing is growing, then I need to grow faster.”

The weakness faded slowly.
But the pull inside my chest didn’t.

It pulsed once—
sharp, direct.
Almost like a reply.

I froze.

“…What do you want from me?” I whispered.

Patch hissed softly—not at the air,
but at my chest.

That said enough.

Whatever was happening wasn’t stopping.
And pretending it wasn’t real wasn’t going to save me.

I steadied my breathing.

Fear wasn’t gone.
But it wasn’t leading anymore.

For the first time,
I felt the line between “something is wrong” and “something is changing”
blur into the same direction.

And I wasn’t sure
which side of it I was standing on.