An enemy emerges.

April feels an itch in the back of her spine. Everything she was telekinetically handling froze in mid-air.

She ran to one of the windows, opened it, and stuck her head into the night air. Police sirens many blocks away, chatter in the streets, and light pollution, all fairly normal for New York. She didn't see or hear any direct danger.

She closed the window and went back to cooking, though the bad feeling she got didn't let up.

A feeling like she was being watched.

And watched she was, from atop a billboard on a building across the street.