The world snapped back into focus, the sickly green sky returning to its normal, placid blue. But the feeling of wrongness lingered, a nauseous, vertiginous sensation, as if the ground beneath Kofi's feet was no longer solid.
The Weaver's smile was one of pure, predatory satisfaction. "Such a fragile little reality you have here," she mused, her voice a silken thread of condescension. "It barely holds together."
Nina, who had been frozen in a state of shocked disbelief, found her voice. "Who the hell are you, and what do you want?" Her tone was the familiar, sharp command of a leader facing a new, unexpected threat.
The Weaver's violet eyes flickered toward her, a look of mild, dismissive amusement on her face. "I am a function," she said simply. "And I want to restore order. Your little artist friend is a disruption. A bug in the code. And I am here to perform a system cleanup."
She took another fluid, graceful step toward their apartment building, her intention clear.
