It started with Mr. Kehl, their literature teacher.
Mid-sentence, explaining something about metaphor, he stopped. Not a dramatic pause—just a beat too long. Long enough that the class glanced up. Long enough that Rion noticed.
Mr. Kehl's mouth was still slightly open. Eyes unfocused. As if waiting.
Then, after nearly five seconds, he resumed—same tone, same words, no reaction. Like someone had pressed play again.
Later that week, it happened with Lena. They were in the hallway. She asked him what time lunch started, then just… froze.
Not shocked. Not blinking. Just *paused*.
Rion leaned closer.
Her eyes didn't move.
"Lena?" he asked quietly.
Nothing.
He counted to four. Then five.
Then she blinked and said, "Thanks," even though he hadn't answered yet.
He tried not to panic.
But it kept happening. Strangers on the street, a librarian mid-sentence, even his mother—pausing just a little too long, just often enough to notice.
It wasn't like time stopped.
It was like *they* did.
As if something was loading. Or checking what was supposed to happen next.
And the worst part?
Rion hadn't paused once.