At 7:42 a.m., sunlight cut through the gaps in the blinds, drawing precise bands of light and shadow across the kitchen floor.They landed in the exact same positions as always—down to the millimeter—as if measured with a ruler.
Jeff stood at the sink and reached for the old dark-blue cup.
He remembered clearly—after washing it the night before, his fingers had placed it upside down on the drying rack.The memory was intact. Even the sound of water droplets sliding off lingered in his ears.
His fingers closed on nothing.
He stopped midair, fingers slightly spread,as if grasping at a pocket of empty space.
The drying rack was too clean.There was nothing there.
Jeff didn't pull his hand back right away.
He stared at the spot. His breathing caught for a brief moment,then he looked down at his fingers—distance correct, angle correct.
Finally, he exhaled and turned to take another cup from the cabinet.
The movement was too smooth,as if his body had already decided to abandon the question.
He knew the blue cup had been there last night.
That fact wasn't overturned—just quietly set aside, like a fragment not yet chosen to be picked up.
In the corner of the living room, Patch lifted his head.
His ears tilted forward, gaze shifting twice between Jeff and the empty space in the air.
Like comparing two overlapping blueprints, checking where they failed to align.
A few seconds later, he slowly lay back down.His tail remained perfectly still.
Jeff pressed the coffee maker.
When the button clicked back, he heard himself say a sentence—
"Don't come back too late today."
The words had already left his throatbefore he realized they hadn't reached their proper moment yet.
Not a slip of the tongue.More like the next line in a sequence being called too early.
He looked down at his hand.
The cup was held steady. His knuckles weren't tense.
But his vision lagged.
The image dragged back by a single frame,then snapped into place over the action he was already performing.
Jeff blinked.
The delay didn't improve.It simply ended on its own.
A thought surfaced—light, but cold.
Not fatigue.
Of that, he was more certain than ever.
Footsteps came from the bedroom.
Emilia appeared in the doorway and paused.
Her gaze settled on Jeff's back, lingering longer than usual,as if counting whether the rise and fall of his shoulder blades still matched yesterday.
She walked closer and stopped behind him.Close enough to feel his breathing, but without touching.
"Morning," she said.
Her voice was the same as always.But the final syllable trembled, just slightly.
Jeff replied.
This time, thought and voice finally synchronized.
Emilia didn't say anything else. She stood there for a moment,then turned to get her own cup.
Her movements were slow,as if deliberately stretching each beat to keep something from breaking.
In ARC's backend, the black file turned a page.
Consistency Index: 97.3% → 96.8%Stability: GreenIntervention Recommendation: NoneNote: Minor displacement. Continue observation.
No alarms. No sound.
Just written into the log,placed alongside other items still waiting to be classified.
At 11:00 p.m., Jeff sat in the study with only the desk lamp on.
The circle of light stopped at the edge of the desk.Everything else rested in gray shadow.
He listed the day's anomalies without rushing to order them.
The blue cupThe sentence spoken too earlyVisual delayPatch's gaze
When the list was done, he stared at the lines for a long time.
Then he left a blank space belowand slowly added one more line.
Changes after source-point write: ongoing.
It wasn't a hypothesis.It wasn't fear.
Just the only description that currently held.
He didn't delete it.He didn't write any rebuttal beside it.
When he left the study, he turned off the light.
Crossing the living room, he glanced down at the floor.
His shadow moved with his steps.
At the moment he lifted his foot,the shadow lagged half a beat—then followed.
Patch raised his head from the darkness, eyes glinting faintly.
He didn't move.He simply watched the late-arriving shadow.
A few seconds later, he rested his head back on his paws,as if nothing had happened.
The world was quiet.
But the crack was already there.
The old world was no longer sufficient—it remained where it was,while he had begun to grow into another shape.