You don't always notice what's taken.
Not immediately.
Sometimes— it disappears so quietly… you keep reaching for it,
long after it's gone.
I didn't turn fully.
Not at once.
Because something is in me— something instinctive— knew that seeing it wasn't the point.
Feeling it was.
And I already did.
Too close.
Too present.
Too real.
"Harry…" Tyler's voice came out lower this time.
Not cautious.
Not controlled.
Warned.
I didn't respond.
Because I was listening.
Not for sound— for absence.
Because something had changed.
Not around me.
Inside.
My grip on the phone loosened slightly.
Not by choice.
Just— slightly.
And that's when I realized it.
Not fear.
Not shock.
Loss.
Something was missing.
Not physical.
Not visible.
But enough.
Enough to matter.
"Say something," I whispered into the phone.
Avni's breathing was still there.
Uneven.
Faint.
But fading.
"Harry… I—"
The call cut.
No beep.
No disconnect tone.
Just— gone.
I stared at the screen.
Signal still there.
Call still active.
But silence.
Complete.
"They cut it," Tyler said.
"No."
"Then what?"
I didn't answer.
Because that— that wasn't it.
"They didn't cut the call," I said slowly.
"They removed it."
"That's the same thing."
"No," I replied.
"It's not."
Because cutting ends something.
Removing it— erases it.
And suddenly— I wasn't sure if the call had ever happened.
Or if I just remembered it.
"Harry, we need to move," Tyler said.
"Where?"
"To her."
I almost laughed.
Not out of humor.
Out of realization.
"We don't know where she is."
"Then we find out."
"How?"
Silence.
Because that— that was the problem.
This wasn't a place you could locate.
This wasn't something you could trace.
This was something… you were led into.
And that meant— we were already on the path.
Whether we understood it or not.
"You said they're removing distance," Tyler said.
"Yes."
"Then maybe we don't need to go to her."
I looked at him.
"What do you mean?"
"Maybe she's already being brought to you."
That— that felt wrong.
But also— possible.
Too possible.
A sound.
Again.
Behind us.
Closer.
Not imagined.
Not subtle.
Real.
This time— I turned fully.
And for a second— just a second— something moved.
Not clearly.
Not fully.
A shape.
A shift.
Gone.
"What was that?" Tyler asked.
I didn't answer.
Because my focus— my awareness— was somewhere else.
My hand.
The one holding the phone.
It felt…
lighter.
Wrong.
I looked down.
Nothing had changed.
Phone still there.
The grip is still steady.
And yet— something was off.
"What?" Tyler asked.
"My hand," I said.
"What about it?"
"I can't…"
I paused.
Because saying it didn't make sense.
"I can't feel it the same way."
Silence.
Because that— that was new.
Not psychological.
Not emotional.
Physical.
"Give me your hand," Tyler said.
I hesitated.
Then—
I did.
He grabbed it.
Firm.
Solid.
Real.
"You're fine," he said.
"No."
"Harry—"
"It's not the same."
I pulled my hand back.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Because now—
I was paying attention.
To everything.
Every detail.
Every sensation.
And something— something was missing.
Not completely.
Not gone.
Just… reduced.
Like part of it had been taken.
"That's not possible," Tyler said.
"It is."
"How?"
I didn't answer.
Because I already knew.
This wasn't about injury.
This wasn't about damage.
This was about removal.
And removal… doesn't need a wound.
My phone buzzed again.
Same number.
I didn't hesitate.
I answered.
Immediately.
Silence.
Then— a voice.
Not Avni.
Not Rhea.
The same one.
Cold.
Measured.
"You felt it," it said.
Not a question.
A statement.
"Yes," I replied.
"Good."
That word again.
Always that word.
"What did you take?" I asked.
A pause.
Longer this time.
Because this— this mattered.
"Nothing," it said.
Lie.
Or something worse.
"Then why does it feel like something's gone?"
Another pause.
"You're asking the wrong question."
Of course.
Always that.
"Then what's the right one?"
Silence.
Then—
"What did you lose?"
That didn't help.
It made it worse.
"Answer me," I said.
"No."
Direct.
Clear.
Unavoidable.
"You don't get to understand that yet."
Yet.
That word stayed.
Because it meant— this wasn't over.
This wasn't complete.
This was just the beginning.
The call ended.
Again.
No warning.
No closure.
Just— absence.
I lowered the phone.
Looked at Tyler.
"They took something," I said.
He didn't argue this time.
Because he saw it.
Not physically.
But enough.
"What?" he asked.
"I don't know."
"And that's the worst part," he said.
"Yes."
Because you can fight something you see.
You can resist something you understand.
But something you can't even name— something you can't even feel fully— that's something else.
"That's not control," he added.
"No."
"That's something deeper."
Yes.
Much deeper.
I flexed my hand again.
Tried to focus.
To feel.
To confirm.
And it was there.
But not fully.
Not completely.
Like a part of me had been dimmed.
Not erased.
Just… lowered.
"They're not just interacting anymore," Tyler said.
"They're changing you."
I didn't respond.
Because that— that was obvious.
And the worst part— it didn't feel violent.
It didn't feel forced.
It felt… natural.
Like it had always been meant to happen.
And that— that scared me more than anything else.
Because if something can change you without you noticing it happens— then how much of you… is actually yours?
A sound.
Closer again.
Not behind.
Not ahead.
Everywhere.
And this time— it didn't wait.
It didn't hide.
It didn't distance itself.
It moved.
Fast.
Direct.
Toward us.
Tyler stepped in front of me instantly.
Protective.
Instinctive.
Real.
"Stay back," he said.
I didn't move.
Because I couldn't.
Not out of fear.
Out of awareness.
Because this— this wasn't something you run from.
This was something— that had already reached you.
And for the first time—
I understood what it meant to not just be inside it… but to be changed by it.
And something told me— this wasn't everything it could take.
This was just… the first piece.