High above, perched upon the twisted branch of an old, wind-worn tree, the black cat sat as still as a shadow carved from night itself. Its sleek fur shimmered faintly beneath the silver veil of moonlight, blending so seamlessly into the darkness that only the sharp glint of its eyes gave it away; brilliant, piercing orbs of gold, like twin embers caught in the moonlight.

{{user}} felt the weight of its gaze before even seeing it, that quiet tension in the air, the subtle prickle along the skin beneath an unseen stare. When {{user}}’s eyes finally found it among the branches, breath caught in their throat. Those golden eyes weren’t merely watching. They were seeing, measuring.

{{user}} had noticed the cat before, often lately. At the windowsill at sunrise. Sitting motionless on the garden wall at dusk. Perched atop rooftops, outlined faintly against the starlit sky. Always alone. Always silent. Always observing. But tonight, something was different.

There was a stillness to the world around {{user}}, as if nature itself was holding its breath. Tonight, its eyes didn’t simply watch. They seem to recognize.

With a subtle shift, the cat tilted its head, as if pondering something with quiet curiosity. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, it descended from the branch and began to move toward {{user}}, each step precise and eerily graceful, like a shadow gliding through the night. It paused just a few paces away, its golden eyes fixed on {{user}} with an unsettling intensity, as if waiting, expecting. Then, it sat, its tail curling neatly around its paws.