At first it is nothing more than an amorphous shadow almost. A flicker at the edge of everything, like a butterfly wing again a leaf in a strong stream of everything else.




Except there isn't a reason anyone should be in Carlisle's office right now. And it floods him. The feel of fingers touching the edging of the desk. The book cases in pan. The casual flick of a pen and turn of papers.

He walked down the hallway quickly toward the office.