“Wisp? It’s me—Ariel. Can you hear me?

  Why are you… flickering like that? Your words—they don’t line up. You’re speaking over yourself—stop, please stop.

  What’s happening to you? You’re not making sense. Wisp? Look at me—please look at me.”

  H0L1Y!1

  The city was washed in the soft indigo of early evening, the neon signs just beginning to stir awake, humming faintly above the sidewalks. Holly and Heather walked side by side, their coats brushing, steps syncing in that unconscious rhythm that comes from years of knowing each other. The streets smelled of fried food, rain on asphalt, and the faint perfume of blossoms someone had set in a shop window.

  Heather carried a paper cup of cocoa, steam curling up against her flushed cheeks. Holly had her hands buried in her pockets, eyes skipping from storefront to passing faces to the sky above, where the last strip of sunset was giving way to stars.

  “You always walk like you’re on a mission,” Heather teased, sipping her drink. “Slow down before you burn holes in the pavement.”

  “I like moving,” Holly said. “Makes me feel like I’m not wasting time.”

  Heather bumped her shoulder playfully, her plush frame leaning into Holly’s smaller one. “Newsflash: wasting time with me is called living.”

  Holly smirked despite herself. “Fair point.” Yet even as she said it, a tug lingered at the back of her mind, like a thread she couldn’t quite grasp. The sensation was maddening—an itch beneath the surface of thought. Something important was missing, she could feel it, but every time she reached for it the idea slipped away like water through her fingers. She frowned faintly, unsure why, the warmth of Heather’s presence grounding her even as the unease coiled in her chest.

  They strolled past a bookstore, its sign blinking in and out like it couldn’t decide if it was open or closed. Holly frowned—she could have sworn the O in Books had vanished entirely for a second. When she blinked, it was normal again. She opened her mouth to say something, but Heather’s hand brushed hers and squeezed, drawing her gaze back. By the time Holly looked again, the sign was steady.

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  They talked about lighter things: the ridiculous scarf Heather had seen in a thrift shop, the restaurant on 4th that kept changing ___ but never ___, the ___ ___ setting up in the square. Holly fed the rhythm of the conversation, but her thoughts kept snagging. Had words disappeared from their conversations? When they passed a parked car, she thought for a flicker that there was no shadow beneath it, only empty pavement. Another blink, and the shadow was back, stretching long in the lamplight.

  And....Had words disappeared from their conversations?

  “You okay?” Heather asked, her tone just light enough to be casual but carrying an edge of something tighter.

  “Yeah,” Holly said quickly. “Just tired.”

  Heather hummed but said nothing, sipping her cocoa again. The quiet between them was companionable, but Holly thought she saw Heather’s jaw tighten.

  They crossed into the park, where string lights glowed between the trees. Holly gasped quietly—half the bulbs seemed to vanish for an instant, the whole strand reduced to dark wire before flashing alive again. She blinked, heart hammering. Had she imagined it? She glanced sideways, but Heather was already watching her, eyes sharp. The redhead reached out, fingers warm against Holly’s cheek.

  Holly blinked once, twice, and the lights were steady. She exhaled. “Sorry. Zoned out again.”

  Heather’s smile was soft, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Stay with me, Holly.”

  They walked on. Heather grew quieter as the evening stretched, still responsive but less playful, irritation threading through her voice in ways Holly couldn’t quite pin down. She wasn’t angry, not exactly, but there was a tightness there, a sense of strain.

  Holly tried to ignore the flickers at the edge of her vision—the way the fountain in the square seemed to freeze mid-splash, the way a passerby’s face looked blurred for a heartbeat. Each time, Heather brushed her hand or bumped her shoulder, and the strangeness vanished, leaving Holly smiling again as though nothing had happened.

  The city swelled around them—music spilling from bars, the scent of food trucks, the hum of traffic. Holly clung to the ordinariness of it, to Heather’s warmth beside her, to the comfort of their chatter. And yet, beneath it all, something felt fragile, as if the world was stitched together with thread too fine to hold.

  “The Hugteikn… it’s glowing red. Faint but it's there.

  All these glitches, all this strangeness... it has to be one of the Acolytes. This is too indirect to be Trega. It has to be one of the other two... Only their power could twist memory and sight like this.

  But, if it can reach the Hugteikn... if it can touch what’s sacred… what’s to stop it from reaching Holly?

  ......................

  I have to know. I have to—”