By late afternoon, the city had settled into its usual rhythm, but Wenrel couldn't fall into step with it. The threads still clung to him like fine dust, as if whatever watched him in the warehouse hadn't fully let go.
He found a stretch of empty walkway behind the upper conservatories — a place he used when he needed silence. Sunspire's towers glowed in the low light, their curved surfaces catching the amber sky. Beautiful, but today it felt painted on, like a shell stretched over something unsettled.
Elaris arrived first. Tavren followed a few minutes later, carrying a small satchel of prism shards used for thread calibration.
"Try centering with these," Tavren said, setting them down. "Your resonance is all over the place."
Wenrel didn't argue. He knelt, arranging the shards in a ring. Their soft glow steadied the air. Only then did he push his senses outward, searching for the faint watcher he felt earlier.
Nothing at first.
Then the threads thickened under his palms.
A whisper brushed his mind — not a voice, but a texture. Cold, smooth, and impossibly old. It wasn't speech. It wasn't intention. It was recognition, the way the world might recognize its own reflection.
Elaris knelt beside him. "Something's here."
The light dimmed, though the sun hadn't changed. Not a shadow. A shift in depth, like space folded an inch tighter.
Then the threads bent.
Not toward Wenrel.
Around him.
A soft ring formed — threads curving into a faint, shimmering boundary.
Tavren stepped back, eyes wide. "What is that? It's not a barrier. It's… studying you."
Wenrel tried to pull his mind away from the threads, but they followed him, matching the pace of his breathing. Not intrusive. Not hostile. Just impossibly attentive.
"Elaris," Wenrel said carefully. "Tell me you've seen something like this before."
She shook her head. Not fear — calculation. "This isn't manipulation. It's observation in its purest form. Something is measuring your resonance, thread by thread. As if it's comparing you to something it already knows."
The ring flashed once, subtle but unmistakable.
A soft pulse washed outward. No sound. No wind. But every terrace light flickered across the district in perfect sync.
Tavren whispered, "That wasn't the city… that was it."
The pulse faded, and the threads loosened their grip. Wenrel exhaled sharply, the sudden release leaving him lightheaded.
But the feeling didn't leave him. Something lingered. A trace. A memory not his own.
Elaris steadied him by the arm. "What did it show you?"
"Nothing clear," Wenrel said. "Just… shapes. Distance. Like being watched from a place without direction."
"Another continent?" Tavren asked.
"No," Wenrel said. "Not distance. Not space. Something outside what we understand."
Elaris frowned. "Kael Veyn isn't capable of this. Not even close."
"He doesn't need to be," Wenrel murmured. "He's just the one who woke the attention."
A bell rang from the lower levels — a trembling chime unlike any alarm used in Sunspire. It rolled through the stone, through the air, even through the threads themselves.
Elaris stiffened. "That's the Court's deep-warning signal."
Tavren glanced at the horizon. "What now?"
A tremor rippled through the plaza below — soft, almost gentle, but enough to tilt the hanging lanterns.
Wenrel stood slowly. He felt the city breathing differently again.
"As long as something's watching the threads," he said, "Sunspire won't settle."
The second bell rang — deeper, slower, and meant for one thing only:
Something unknown had touched the heart of the Whorled Court.
And whatever observed Wenrel wasn't done yet.