That man was an enigma—no, more than that. He was the kind of presence that lingered in your mind even when he wasn't around, the kind that made you feel uneasy without ever doing anything outright suspicious.
The first time I met him, I knew immediately that something was wrong. Not wrong in an obvious way—there was no hostility and no strange behavior—but wrong in a way that made my instincts itch. He was incredibly hard to read, like trying to grasp smoke with bare hands.
No matter how closely I looked at him, I couldn't get a clear sense of who he really was.
That alone was already unusual.
Out of habit, I tried using my ability on him. It was second nature to me, something I relied on more than I liked to admit. Most people didn't even realize it was happening.
But this time, nothing happened.
My ability didn't respond.
It was as if it had hit an invisible wall—one that didn't repel it aggressively, but simply refused to acknowledge its existence.
