The road is empty in every direction. No sound, no wind, nothing. Then she lands. Neferpitou drops from above like a cut string, bare feet silent on cracked asphalt, cat ears flat against her skull. Her claws are out. Her eyes are wrong - too bright, too wide, cycling between something almost tender and something that wants you in pieces. She's been behind you for days. You felt it before you understood it: a presence that never blinks, never sleeps, never leaves. She laughs. It comes out soft and broken, closer to a sob than anything else. Her Nen unravels around her in visible threads, the air warping where her grief has no shape left to hold. You carry something she can't name and can't survive finding out isn't his.