The first failure was small.
So small that most people would not have noticed it at all.
I felt it just after sunset, standing near the edge of town where the streetlights thinned and the woods pressed closer. The threads had been restless all day, vibrating with a low, constant tension that made it difficult to ignore their presence. When one finally slipped, it did not snap. It skidded, sliding out of alignment for the briefest moment before settling again.
But that moment mattered.
A scream cut through the air.
Not loud. Not panicked. Just sharp enough to demand attention.
I moved instantly, boots striking pavement as I followed the disturbance toward a narrow side street. The threads pulled tight, guiding me forward, protesting as they struggled to reassert control.
By the time I arrived, it was already over.
A woman stood pressed against a brick wall, chest heaving, eyes wide with shock. A vampire lingered a few steps away, staring at his hands like he didn't recognize them.
Blood stained his mouth.
Not much.
But more than there should have been.
"I didn't mean to," he said hoarsely. "I stopped. I tried to stop."
The threads wrapped around the space between them, stabilizing what remained of the balance. The woman slumped slowly to the ground, alive but shaken. She would remember fear, not faces.
I turned my attention to the vampire.
"This wasn't supposed to happen," he whispered. "You said— people said— this town was controlled."
"It is," I replied. "But control isn't absolute."
His panic spiked, the threads reacting sharply. "Then what's the point?"
That question lingered longer than it should have.
I released him without punishment. He fled, desperation trailing behind him like a shadow.
The failure remained.
Later, at the Mikaelson mansion, Klaus did not bother pretending this was a casual visit.
"You slipped," he said, voice calm but edged with something colder.
I stood near the center of the room, the threads drawn close, tense but restrained. Elijah watched silently from the side, Rebekah seated nearby, Kol pacing with barely contained energy.
"Yes," I said.
Klaus tilted his head. "Interesting how honest you are."
"I don't benefit from denial."
"No," he agreed. "But I do benefit from understanding."
The threads tightened subtly as he stepped closer, pressure brushing against my awareness. This was not a threat.
It was a test.
"You're holding the town together by force of will," Klaus continued. "And wills… tire."
"They do," I said. "Which is why limits matter."
"Then where are yours?"
The question settled heavily in the room.
Elijah spoke quietly. "Klaus."
"No," Klaus said, eyes never leaving mine. "I want to hear this."
I met his gaze evenly. "My limit is collapse. Everything before that is negotiable."
Kol laughed sharply. "That's not a limit. That's a warning."
"Call it what you like."
Klaus smiled slowly. "You're fascinating."
That was not a compliment.