I’m sitting at the kitchen table, eating cereal, trying to focus on literally anything other than the fact that something feels off.
Pandora is at the counter, making coffee.
Normal.
Completely normal.
Except she’s standing a little too close to the window.
Not leaning casually. Not glancing outside.
Standing.
Looking.
Like she’s waiting to see something.
I follow her line of sight.
John Mercer is outside.
Watering his plants again.
Same as always.
Nothing unusual there.
So why is she watching him like that?
I take another bite of cereal and pretend I’m not paying attention.
Mr. Whiskers is sitting next to her, looking up at her like he’s waiting for something.
Not food.
Not attention.
Just… watching.
That’s new.
I glance between the two of them.
Pandora—focused on the window.
Mr. Whiskers—focused on Pandora.
Like there’s some kind of chain of attention happening that I’m not part of.
I don’t like that.
I look back down at my cereal.
Think.
Maybe she’s just zoning out.
People do that.
You stare out a window long enough, your brain just… drifts.
That’s normal.
But then why hasn’t she moved?
The coffee’s done.
She’s not pouring it.
She’s just standing there.
Still watching.
I look outside again.
John shifts position slightly, adjusting the hose.
Completely unaware.
Or at least he looks unaware.
That’s when the thought hits me.
What if she’s not just watching him—
what if she’s waiting for something he does?
I sit up a little straighter.
Okay.
Now I’m paying attention.
Mr. Whiskers flicks his tail once.
Still watching her.
Still not breaking focus.
I don’t remember the last time he paid this much attention to anything that wasn’t food.
I glance back at Pandora.
Still the same.
Still fixed on the window.
I clear my throat slightly.
Nothing.
No reaction.
I shift my chair just enough to make noise.
She doesn’t turn.
Doesn’t acknowledge it.
Which is strange.
Because normally she notices everything.
I look back outside again.
John bends down to adjust one of the pots.
Then stands back up.
Routine.
Predictable.
Nothing that should require this level of observation.
Unless—
it’s not about what he’s doing.
It’s about when he’s doing it.
I don’t like where that thought is going.
So I try to pull it back.
Maybe she’s just thinking about something work-related.
Maybe she’s not even looking at John.
Maybe the window just happens to be where she’s staring.
That would make sense.
That would be normal.
But then Mr. Whiskers shifts slightly and sits up straighter.
Now he’s looking toward the window too.
That’s not helping.
Now it really feels like I’m missing something.
I glance back at Pandora one more time.
Same posture.
Same focus.
Like she’s waiting for something to happen.
And for a second—
just a second—
I wonder if I’m the only one in this room who doesn’t know what that is.