A single leaf fell from the nearby oak tree, spiraling gently downward.
It drifted.
Paused.
Then stopped. Mid-air. Just… stuck there. Hovering about two feet from his shoulder. And then it aged from green to yellow to brown to brittle—then crumbled into dust that never hit the ground. The particles just… disappeared.
Parker saw it all—not with his eyes, but through the layers behind them. His vision was no longer a sense. It was a revelation. He could see the veins in the leaf decaying before the color faded. He saw the atoms twitch in the air as the dust spread, smelled the microscopic burn of chlorophyll dying. He could hear the vibration of the particles against the breeze—the way silence sounded when nature surrendered.
Ere said nothing.
Levi didn't speak.
Even the forest quieted, like it was trying to remember how to breathe in his presence. But Parker… Parker didn't revel. He endured.
