Leonard's boots met the floor with quiet precision, but his stride hitched—barely.
The sensation gripped him not like a blow, but like a hand brushing the nape of his neck. A chill. A ripple. Something he hadn't felt in years.
His breath snagged in his throat.
A tremor—not in the air, but in him.
For a split second, everything in the room dimmed. Not visually. Not magically. But perceptually. As if the balance of things tilted… just a fraction.
He stopped walking.
Not visibly.
Just inside.
A moment's hesitation buried under perfect posture.
Then—gone.
Whatever it was, it vanished like breath on cold glass.
And just as quickly, Leonard's balance returned. His weight settled. His pulse leveled. The strange sensation unwound and left nothing behind.
No threat.
No signature.
No resonance.
Just silence.
He didn't move. Didn't let it show.
But his thoughts sharpened to a razor.
What was that?
It wasn't the artifact. It hadn't stirred. It hadn't responded.
