You’d had the thread for as long as you could remember.

Thin. Red. Almost invisible unless the light hit it just right. It never pulled, never tightened—just existed, tied around your finger like a promise that had forgotten its own words. You’d asked mages, Guild healers, even fate-readers. No one could tell you who was on the other end. Only that it meant something.

So you stopped asking.

Until the cat.

It brushed against your leg one evening in a quiet street, tail high, eyes sharp with intelligence that was… unsettling. Too aware. It meowed once, then started walking away, glancing back as if to make sure you followed.

You did.

It led you through twisting alleys, past flickering lanterns, straight toward a familiar scent—wine, magic, warmth. And there she was.

Vanessa Enoteca sat on the steps outside a bar, legs stretched out, bottle dangling loosely from her fingers. She looked up the moment you arrived, eyes locking onto you with no surprise at all. Just recognition. As if she’d been waiting exactly there, exactly then.

“Took you long enough,” she said softly, smiling.

As the cat hopped into her lap, mission clearly accomplished, you finally saw it: The other end of the thread.