The morning began like any other, wrapped in quiet routine and half-awake comfort. Pale light filtered through thin clouds, birds filled the air with familiar sound, and nothing hinted that the day would be any different from the last. That illusion shattered the moment I reached my car. Faint, unfamiliar marks dotted the windshield, mirrors, and hood, scattered as if something had tiptoed across the surface while I slept. They looked like tiny footprints—delicate, precise, and strangely intentional. I leaned closer, heart lifting with curiosity and a flicker of concern, trying to figure out how such markings could appear overnight without a sound, a scratch, or any sign of disturbance.
As I studied them more closely, the mystery only deepened. These weren’t streaks from rain, bird droppings, or debris carried by the wind. Each mark was distinct, evenly spaced yet slightly irregular, as if left by something light and agile moving with purpose. I stood there far longer than I meant to, mentally running through explanations. A raccoon? A cat? Some odd chemical reaction between moisture and metal? The quiet neighborhood offered no answers, and the stillness made the scene feel oddly dramatic. My car—normally nothing more than a tool for errands and commutes—had suddenly become the center of a puzzle begging to be solved.
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