The wind didn't howl at Silver Creek. It stuttered.
One moment, leaves spiraled down from the old oaks in lazy autumn arcs. The next, they froze midair—then reversed, snapping back onto branches like time had hiccupped.
Inside the manor's sunroom, Kai dropped his coffee mug. It shattered on the floor… then reassembled itself with a soft click and floated back into his hand, still steaming.
He didn't even flinch. Not anymore.
"Luna?" he called, voice low.
No answer.
He found her in the east garden, barefoot in the dew-wet grass, staring at a dandelion gone to seed. Her fingers hovered just above it, not touching. But the seeds weren't drifting away. They hung in place, trembling—not from wind, but from something deeper.
Time itself was holding its breath around her.
Kai crouched a few feet away. "You feel it too, huh?"
She didn't look at him. "Mom's angry. Really angry. Like… the whole sky's bruised."
