The moment I stepped back into my apartment, something felt wrong.

Not dangerous.
Just… shifted.

The light coming through the window was the same warm afternoon color,
but every shadow in the room seemed half a frame slow—
as if the sun and the walls were no longer using the same clock.

Patch sensed it before I did.
She froze on the table, tail stiff, staring at the hallway like someone had just walked through it.

A faint vibration pulsed through the air.

Not sound.
Not movement.
A pressure—thin and steady—sliding along the edges of the room, tracing the corners like invisible chalk.

I closed my eyes.
The Source warmed under my ribs, responding without waiting for command.

The “line” returned.

Not a vision this time.
Not a hallucination.
Just a direction.
A pull.

West.

The same direction that had been itching behind my skull since morning.

Patch let out a small, uneasy chirp.

“Yeah… I feel it too,” I murmured.

Something outside the city was waking up.
And I wasn’t sure if it was calling me—
or checking whether I was still alive.