Patch ran ahead like she knew exactly where the disturbance was coming from.
Her paws hit the ground without sound—too light, too fast.
I crossed the small slope and reached the center of the park.
The air felt heavier. Not humid…
More like gravity snuck in an extra layer.
The symbol flashed again.
A thin white glyph blinked in front of my eyes—there for half a second before dissolving.
Not Chinese.
Not English.
Not anything.
Just… information.
Patch stopped at the base of the right-side mound, tail stiff like a metal rod.
Her gaze drilled into the soil.
"Patch…? What did you—"
The ground pulsed.
Not an earthquake.
Not movement.
A pulse.
Like someone tapped a giant heartbeat beneath the dirt.
I staggered back.
The air in front of me distorted.
Edges bent inward, folding a thin strip of space.
A slit.
Not glowing, not expanding—just quietly misaligned, like the world forgot how to render that one spot.
And then I heard it.
A soundless voice.
Not words.
Not even a feeling.
Just the razor-thin impression that something behind that slit had turned its attention toward me.
Like it finally noticed I could see it.
Patch growled—low, deep, completely unlike her usual self.
She stood between me and the distortion, fur rising in slow motion, as if even her movement suffered delay.
The slit widened for a fraction of a second.
Inside it was darkness…
Not the absence of light, but the absence of reality.
I forced myself to step closer.
My hand reached out—
Not by instinct, but by compulsion.
The moment my fingers were about to touch it, the distortion snapped shut.
Space returned to normal.
But the delay didn't disappear.
My shadow stretched half a second longer on the grass, lagging behind like it had a will of its own.
Patch pressed against my leg, trembling.
"…You saw it too."
The wind finally moved.
Birds resumed chirping.
The park looked normal again.
But it wasn't.
Because for the first time…
the anomaly responded.
And it responded to me.