The morning started like any other.
Marcus woke in the clock tower, his body aching from the endless vigil at the threshold. The door held steady, the thing beyond still patient, still waiting. But something was different. The threads of connection pulsed with a faint, golden light, but there was a tremble in them—a fragility that hadn't been there before.
He stood and walked to the window. The sun was rising over Havenport, painting the sky in shades of gold and pink. The city was alive with noise and motion. Normal. Ordinary. Beautiful.
But Marcus could feel it. Something was wrong.
Anna arrived an hour later, her face pale, her eyes hollow.
"The threads are weakening," she said. "I can feel it. The connection is fraying."
Marcus nodded slowly. "I know. I felt it too."
Anna steppe
