The first sign was absence.
Not silence. Not pressure. Absence. A hollow space in the threads where something should have been but wasn't. I felt it while walking through the center of town, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the square. People moved around me as they always did, unaware that a portion of the town's awareness had gone dark.
That wasn't natural.
Threads did not vanish. They bent. They strained. They resisted.
They did not disappear.
I stopped walking.
The hollow spot tugged gently at my awareness, not demanding attention but inviting it. Whatever had caused it wanted to be found.
I followed.
The absence led me to a small café just off the main street, unremarkable in every way. Inside, a woman sat alone near the window, hands wrapped around a cup of coffee she had not touched. Her posture was relaxed, almost bored, but the space around her felt wrong.
Empty.
The threads refused to touch her.
That alone set every instinct on edge.
She looked up as I approached, eyes sharp and assessing. "You're early," she said.
"I wasn't invited," I replied, stopping a careful distance away.
She smiled faintly. "You always are."
The threads recoiled further, as if repelled by her presence. I had never felt that before.
"You're not bound by the system," I said.
"No," she agreed. "I exist prior to it."
The words landed with weight.
"I'm not here to fight you," she continued calmly. "I'm here to observe."
"You already did that," I said.
Her gaze sharpened. "Yes. And now I'm here because something higher than you finds your solution… inelegant."
The hollow space pulsed.
"She's not vampire," I realized.
"No," she said. "I'm a response."